


Lost Souls Found

by tousled_bird



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Brainwashing, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Canon-Typical Violence, Child Death, Cookies, Dark, Dark Past, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hydra (Marvel), I'm Sorry, Implied/Referenced Brainwashing, Implied/Referenced Torture, Not Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, POV Alternating, Panic Attacks, Past Child Abuse, Post-Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie), Psychological Torture, Psychological Trauma, Reader Needs a Hug, Reader-Insert, Some Humor, You Have Been Warned, sort off
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-03
Updated: 2018-04-09
Packaged: 2018-05-24 14:05:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 17
Words: 41,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6156031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tousled_bird/pseuds/tousled_bird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You wake up in a Hydra-facility, without memories of who you are or what happened to you, shortly before some weird dudes (the Avengers you'll learn later) attack the place and take you under their wings. You don't know what to think about the group of unlikely individuals, but Bucky, the other amnesiac ex Hydra-captive in the tower, knows the struggle and helps you to learn to handle these weirdos. </p><p>Slowly, life gets better. Well, that's until Hydra shows its ugly face again and everything goes south. Like, so far south it's going north again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Run

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is what happens when I watch Captain America: The Winter Soldier instead of learning. I should really concentrate on my exams and homeworks, but my brain's just like: 'Haha, not a chance! I'll replay this little story until you write it down, yah!' 
> 
> I listened to these songs while writing this chapter:  
> [ I Live (Electronic Version) ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UEFMI0GPEsA) by Brian Tuey  
> [ Smooth Talker ](https://kevinriepl.bandcamp.com/track/smooth-talker) by Kevin Riepl  
> [ Ramses Station ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N1e0_SDxjdc) by Jack Wall.
> 
> Also, I'm unused to trigger warnings, but this chapter contains lots of panic and a panic attack. If I missed a trigger, please let me know so I can add it in my warnings.
> 
> Anyhoo, hope you like it :)
> 
> [Disclaimer: I don't own Marvel or any of their characters (so sad), and neither do I own you.]

White light, bright and harsh. Blinding. It sends a piercing pain through her head. She blinks and turns, away from the brightness. The motion provokes heavy waves of nausea. She closes her eyes again and breathes deeply to fight the sickening feeling. Her breath is the only thing she hears in the silence.

_No noise no noise no voice why is it so quiet so quiet too quiet?_

The nausea slowly fades and she dares to open her eyes again. Her vision is blurry, but the outlines of her surroundings emerge bit by bit from the hazy whiteness around her. The room is unfamiliar. White walls and ceiling, sterile. A door to her right, a mirror in the wall to her left. A metal-table next to the chair she's sitting in, paper scattered on the table top. And needles. Syringes. So many of them.

_Where is she what happened where is she why is she here how did she get here?_

She doesn't remember. Her mind is a foggy mess and every time she tries to remember the pain in her head intensifies tenfold, thousand needles stabbing behind her eyes.

_Pain pain sluggish thoughts like walking through mud foggy mind can't remember why why why what happened?_

Nobody is here to answer the questions swirling in her mind. She is alone.

_Alone why is she alone she shouldn't be alone she doesn't want to be alone!_

She closes her eyes, taking deep breaths to fight the panic rising in her chest. Her breathing is still too loud in the silence. Minutes pass. She tries to count the seconds, but gives up eventually. Nothing happens. Nobody comes to look after her. She can't do anything; her body feels numb, funny, as if it doesn't belong to her and she is too exhausted to try to move, her headache didn't subside, the nausea still lurks within her innards. She feels miserable. All she can do is breathe.

In and out.

In and out.

In.

Out.

In…

Out…

She doesn't know how much time passed when suddenly a loud bang tears the silence apart. The ground shakes and a piercing alarm rings through the room.

Her eyes snap open and she sits up. A groan escapes her, when a new wave of nausea rolls over her.

_What happened what happened what was that?_

Gunfire in the distance.

_Gunfire who's shootingfighting what's happening guns guns guns bad dangerous!_

She wants to leave the chair, wants to stand up, to move, but leatherstraps around her wrists hold her down, fixating her arms on the armrest. She pulls and tear at the leather, straining it, and somehow she can free her right hand.

Needles in her left arm, hooked to several IVs. She rips them out without a second thought, reluctance so strong making her innards curls into a tight knot.

_She doesn't want them doesn't want them what is this why didn't she notice earlier!_

She ignores the pain, the blood oozing from the needle wounds and tucks desperately at the remaining shackle around her left wrist. Her fingers are so week, trembling and numb!

The gunfire comes closer. Finally, she hears voices: Screams, shouting, barked orders. Another explosion shakes the ground.

The shackle. Won't. Loosen!

She gives up trying to open the shackle with her bare fingers and slips from the chair to grab the scalpel she saw on the table. Her legs almost give in, not able to carry her weight; she has to lean against the chair to prevent herself from falling.

The scalpel's short blade is sharp - _sharp shiny dangerous cut the shackle cut the shackle but not her fingers_ \- but the leather is tenacious. Precious seconds trickle away, the angry voices and gunshots coming closer with each one passing. She is almost done - _almost done no no why almost done why_ \- when the mirror suddenly shatters and two figures fall into her room.

She screeches and instinctively let herself fall down, taking cover behind the table and trying desperately to cut the shackle. Two seconds later she is finally able to free her hand.

The two strangers are still fighting.

_Why is this happening why is she here why why why she doesn't want to be here too quiet to loud to dangerous fighting gunshots not safe not safe…_

One of the strangers smashes the other's head against the wall. The fight is over.

_What now what now please go away she's not here he doesn't see her go away go away!_

Her head is spinning, her mind still sluggish and her limbs feel funny. She tightens her grip around the scalpel.

_Shiny sharp so sharp stab the bad guys stab them stab them stab stab!_

The victorious stranger lets out a small huff and reaches for his ear. "Barton here, the labs are cleared." He listens for a second, then he nods. "I'm on my way." He gives the unmoving form in front of him a last kick and turns around.

His eyes fall on her and he stops dead in his tracks.

For a long second they just stare at each other.

_Go away go away just please go away she's nobody not a treat not dangerous just go away away leave her please!_

Her heart is racing; she can hear her blood throb in her ears with each heartbeat.

He rises his hand, reaching for his ear again. "It's Barton again. I found a captive. Need a safe route to extraction point." He listens for another minute before he makes an approving sound, then he crouches down in front of her with a friendly smile. "Hey, my name's Clint. Listen, it's not safe here, I'm going to bring you out of here."

She just stares at him, unmoving.

_Not safe not safe she knows stranger she doesn't trust him who is he she wants him to leave her just leave go!_

Another explosion, making the lights flicker. She winces, he frowns. "Come on, time to get you to a safer place." He offers her a hand, but she makes no move to take it.

Her eyes flicker to the door.

"Hey, did you hear me?" He leans forward, reaching out for her.

_Nooooooononononononono don't touch her!_

She leaps forward, stabbing the scalpel at him. He stumbles back, surprised, and lands on his butt. "Ow! What the hell?"

She is on her feet now, jumping over him towards the door.

"Hey, no! Wait!" He grabs her ankle making her trip. "I'm here to help you!"

She squirms and kicks until she hits something solid. A groan and her ankle is free again. She makes it to the door, adrenaline pulses through her veins, making the pain and the drowsiness forgotten.

"No, nonono, don't go that way! It's too dangerous!"

She ignores him. The door isn't locked, which is a good thing because the guy's already on his feed again. "Shit, the captive's coming your way, Cap! Watch out where you throw that fancy Frisbee of yours!"

His words don't make any sense for her and she doesn't care. She just runs.

_Run run run away she needs a safe place somewhere safe not here not here run where to go?_

Endless corridors with locked doors, motionless bodies scattered around. The alarm's still blaring. Gunshots and screams. Steps behind her. She doesn't dare to glance over her shoulders.

A flash of blue ahead. Something's flying at her. She ducks without slowing down, hands thrown over her head. None too soon. Something heavy swooshes over her hair.

"Damnit, Cap, I said watch it!"

"Sorry!"

"Just stop her!"

Hands reaching for her. She dodges and passes the blue splotch, rounds a corner. Her bare feet slip on something warm and sticky, sending her to the ground. She catches her fall, but loses precious seconds. The blue splotch is over her before she is able to get on her feet again.

She crawls away from him. Blood sough through her ears, her heart's beating violently and her breath is ragged.

"It's okay, I won't hurt you," the blue splotch says with a gentle voice.

She frantically shakes her head, retreating further.

_Don't come closer let her be don't touch her stay away stay away!_

"Already tried that. Didn't work," the voice of her pursuer mutters from somewhere behind the blue splotch.

"My name is Steve, we're here to help you. You are safe now."

Bullets fly through the air, piercing the wall above them, just as if to mock his words. She lets out small noise, a mixture of a hysteric laugh and a desperate sob.

The blue splotch curses under his breath. "Don't move, we'll be right back."

She crawls backwards until she has the wall in her back. Blood on her hands, on her white pants and shirt. Not hers though, not hers.

More bullets fly, more curses are muttered, more orders barked. Screams, shots, explosions.

She stares at her bloodied hands, her vision tunnelled.

_Why is this happening why is she here she doesn't want to be here no no no why too much noise where is she she doesn't want to be here no so much blood so much blood why…_

And then there's silence. Heavy, deafening silence.

Something touches her shoulder making her flinch violently and raise her hands in defence.

_Don't touch don't touch don't touch don't touch don't touch no!_

"I'm sorry," says the blue splotch's voice next to her. "I didn't mean to startle you."

She doesn't answer, hoping that he will go away.

"You seem to be hurt. We can help you, but you have to come with us."

She shakes her head.

"Look at her. She's scared shitless. We have to sedate her or else she won't go anywhere, not without her fighting us and hurting herself"

A heartbeat of silence, then a sigh. "Alright, tell Natasha-"

_No! No more drugs no foggy mind and slow thoughts no no no no no!_

She leaps to her feet and tries to shove the blue splotch away from her, a futile action; it's like trying to jostle a rock, so she stabs her scalpel hat him, but he grabs her wrist and forces her to let go of her weapon. "Woah, calm down! We're not donna hurt you, I promise"

She doesn't listen, doesn't want to listen. He's still holding her wrist, doesn't let go of her. She squirms and kicks and gnarls, fights like a fury, trying to break free.

The nausea returns with full force and her head starts to throb again. The pounding in her ears grows lauder and louder until she can't hear her own thoughts.

Suddenly she can't breathe anymore. Her legs buckle and she falls against the blue splotch. She gasps for air like a fish out of water, but there's no more air to breath. No air…

"My god, what did they do to her?"

Strong arms lift her from the ground. She tries to struggle, but all she can do is breath in non-existent air.

"They're Hydra. I don't know if I want to know," is the last thing she hears before she glides into oblivion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have the next two chapters finished and will post them in a week. Maybe a bit earlier, I don't know yet.
> 
> Please tell me what you think! I love feedback! :)


	2. No Answers, More Questions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's chapter 2!
> 
> Listened to 'Who Are You' by Vincent Pope (Sorry guys, I couldn't find the song anywhere but on Spotify. If you find a working link I can put in here please let me know!)
> 
> No trigger warnings, I think... except maybe for memory loss and the mention of drugs? Idk, just enjoy and tell me about your thoughts! And your feels! All of them! Mwahahahaha xD 
> 
> Ahem, here you go:

"So, what do we know about her?" Steve asks into the group.

"Apart from her being a female in her twenties, her blood type and that she was a captive of Hydra, drugged out of her mind when we found her? Next to nothing," Clint grumbles.

Tony swirls his chair around and says: "I've Friday encrypting the files and scouring the data. A lot of test protocols and data it seems, but nothing personal yet. No name, not even an identification number"

"We should run her face and fingerprints through the international databanks, maybe she is registered in one of them," Sam suggests.

"Or we just ask her. She's waking up," Tony replies and summons the camera feed from the room, where they accommodated their latest houseguest, on the large screen. "Your entrance, bird-boy."

Sam nods. "Let her some minutes to wake up and get familiar with the new environment."

General agreement. Sam's the one with the most experience regarding situation like this. Or similar to this. Well, he's been in a situation like this before exactly once, but he working with veterans knows how to handle traumatized people.

They watch in silence how the woman plucks off the electrodes from her body and the lines showing her vital signs go flat. Tony switches the monitor off.

The young woman inspects the room. She examines the glass filled with water on the nightstand next to her bed, but she puts it back without drinking from it. Her movements are wary, like she expects something or someone to lunge at her any second.

Sam stands up. "Alright. Time to try."

"Make sure she doesn't get her hands on something pointy or sharp. She's quick," Barton warns and rubs his recently received stab wound on his left biceps, earning an approving nod from Steve.

Sam smirks. "I'll keep that in mind," he says and leaves the room.

Five minutes later he knocks at the door. The woman flinches. She doesn't answer and doesn't move, but she is tense and ready to run.

Sam knocks again and opens the door, when she doesn't answer. He pokes his head into the room and says: " _Hello, may I come in_?" She shifts, but nods after some seconds. Sam opens the door and steps in. " _Do you mind if I have a seat?_ " he asks, pointing at the chair in the corner by the window. She shakes her head. He walks over to the chair in the corner at the window and sits down. She backs off, keeping the distance between them. " _Don't worry, I won't hurt you. Nobody here will. You're safe now_ ," Sam assures her.

"Clever move," Hawkeye murmurs. Tony shoots him a curious look. "The door is the only exit. She cleared her only escape route when she let him enter and sit down. Now she's close to the exit and has Wilson in a less dangerous position," Clint explains. "He made sure she doesn't feel threatened by him. Or less threatened. A first step to gain her trust."

Tony ahas.

The woman's eyes dart between Sam and the door.

" _You are free to leave. But if you chose to do that, we can't help you_ ," Sam tells her friendly.

She moves toward the door, her eyes never leaving him. He doesn't make an attempt to stop her. She opens the door and peeks out. The corridor outside her room is empty. Tony made sure of it. She closes the door again and turns to Sam. " _Where is she?_ " Her voice is hoarse like she hasn't spoke for a long time.

"She? Who is she talking about?" Steve asks nobody in particular. "Don't tell me they had another hostage."

Sam's asking himself the same thing. " _Where is who?_ "

The woman shifts again, fiddling with her fingers. " _She… I… where is… where am... Where is this person? Where am… I_?"

The three men tense up. "The fuck?"

Steve shakes his head, unbelieving, and repeats the question he asked himself back in the Hydra-facility: "What did they do to her?"

Tony stopped fiddling with his pen, his attention now completely drawn to the screen.

It takes Sam another two seconds before he answers. " _We're in the Avenger's Tower. This is New York._ " He points at the view outside the window. His voice is even, showing nothing of his thoughts or feelings.

There's no recognition in her face when she follows his outstreched arm. " _How did she… I get here?_ "

" _We brought you here after we found you in a Hydra-facility._ "

" _Why?_ "

" _You were hurt and needed help_ ," Sam says simply.

" _Huh_." Her face goes blank and she stares into nothingness for a couple of seconds. Sam speaks up, his voice gentle. " _Hey… I'm Sam, by the way. Do you want me tell your name?_ "

His question seems to pull her out from wherever she was. " _They didn't give her a name._ "

Steve is so tense now, he would snap clean in a half if he moved wrong.

" _They didn't give you a name..._ " Sam repeats slowly. " _Do you mean the guys back in the facility?_ " She nods. " _...Don't you remember your own name? The name your parents gave you?_ "

" _Who?_ " She gives him a confused stare. " _She… I have no name. They didn't give her one._ "

Tony's pen breaks in his fingers. He throws it away and snatches another one without looking away from the screen.

" _Can you tell me for how long you've been in this facility?_ "

She shrugs, hesitant. " _She doesn't know. I woke up when the fighting started. She… I don't remember much from before. People in white. Needles. Running. More people. More needles. and more running. And then the shooting. She was afraid. She run. Then she fell and couldn't run anymore_." She crunches her nose. " _I don't like needles_."

Sam nods understanding. " _Nobody likes needles_." He is rewarded with a tiny but honest to god _smile_. " _You're tired_ ," he observes.

She freezes, but nods eventually.

" _That's alright. You've been through a lot. I will leave you for now, bit I'd like to talk to you again, if you're okay with it._ " Another hesitant nod. " _Good. There's a button next to your bed. Push it if you need anything_." Sam stands up, and makes his way to the door, slow and nonthreatening. She keeps the distance, watching every move he makes. The tension only drops from her shoulders the second the door closes behind Sam.

She's still standing at her spot by the window by the time Sam joins his fellow Avengers in the small conference room again.

"Well, that wasn't very fertile," Tony states, twirling his pen between his fingers.

"No, but disturbing as hell" Clint rumbles.

Sam shrugs. "That was expectable. She is traumatized and the drugs in her system certainly didn't help with her memories. The way she talked about herself? I think she dissociated herself from whatever happened to her. It will take time for her to remember. _If_ she remembers, that is."

"Great, now I'm harbouring _two_ amnesiac fugitives in my home," Tony drawls and throws his pen away. "I'm in the lab." He gets up and leaves.

Barton rises too, saying: "I'm going to send a picture of her to one of my contacts tomorrow. Maybe we'll find something through facial recognition."

"...You okay?" Sam asks Steve after Barton left the room.

Steve snorts. "Are you?"

His friend rubs his neck. "I've seen a lot of bad things, but this? I don't know, this is beyond fucked up. Almost as bad as… well, you know. We didn't find anything similar to the chair… My guess is they used drugs to mess with her memories. She had enough of that stuff in her system when we found her."

"That doesn't make it better." Steve's voice is bitter.

"Never said that."

They sit in silence. The woman found her way back into the bed in the meanwhile. Sam closes the surveillance feed. "Are you going to tell him?"

"Do you think he knows anything about her?"

"Most unlikely." Sam stretches his arms over his head. "But we'll never know if you don't ask."

Steve sighs. "I don't know yet."

"Whatever you chose, man. Whatever you chose. But chose tomorrow. It's late and I need my beauty sleep." He gets up and makes his way to the door. "Don't brood too much, okay?"

Steve gives him a lopsided smile. "I'll try. Good night, Sam"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm no psychologist and a total noob in this field. I just... kind off improvised with wikipedia and wild imagination... Don't sue me xD
> 
> Next chapter on friday! :)


	3. Nightly Encounters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 3, as promised.
> 
> But before you start reading, I wanna say thank you to all of you who read this, left a kudos or even a comment! You really warmed my cold, dead heart!
> 
> I listened to [ Week #1](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wQjYeVM_cuQ) by Fabrizio Paterlini and [ Fragments ](https://jorgemendez.bandcamp.com/album/fragments) by Jorge Méndez while writing this chapter.
> 
> No trigger-warnings, enjoy! :)
> 
> ps.: This fic is my first attempt to write the Avengers and I hope everyone is in character. If not, please help me and tell me how to do better! Cheers! :D

She was able to get some sleep. It's still dark outside when she wakes up again, though, the horizon barely greying, while the city outside the window remains in the dark, shimmering with thousands and thousands of lights. It's beautiful, in a way.

She sits on the bed, draped in her blanket, and stares out of the window. It's strange: The last time she woke up she was tied to an uncomfortable chair in the midst of a firefight and now she is in this quiet and warm room, nobody is shooting at her or chasing her through endless hallways. Only in her dreams. And nobody is prodding her. No needles yet.

But they touched her. She's not longer wearing the bloodstained white pants and top but a clean, knee long hospital gown. And there's no longer blood on her skin. Somebody washed her.

_Someone touched her. Washed her. Changed her clothes. They touched her! Without permission, without asking! She didn't want to be touched! No, no, no, no, no! Why did they touch her? Urgh… She's not dirty anymore. That's good… but It's bad too… good or bad and good but bad…?_

She takes a deep breath to calm down. They didn't hurt her, didn't tied her up. She doesn't trust them, but she feels… better. The pain faded and the numbness in her limps is gone, too. And her mind is somewhat clear again, her thoughts aren't hazy anymore. Maybe they aren't as bad as the people before?

But right now there's another issue now she has to take care off: the growing pressure on her bladder. She has. To. Pee.

There's no chamber pot beneath her bed and she has no idea where the bathroom is. The Sam-guy didn't mention it. She slides from the bed - the floor is cold beneath her bare feed - and scurries to the door. It's unlocked, and the corridor outside is empty. But where to go?

She closes the door again and returns to the bed. There's a button, Sam-guy told her. It's not hard to find, but she hesitates before she pushes it.

"How can I help you?"

She flinches and almost pees herself when the female voice chimes up. She looks around, frantically, but there's nobody else in the room. "Who is she?"

"My name is Friday. I am Mister Starks personal AI-assistant."

"Where is she? She can't see her!"

"My software is located within the mainframe."

She does not understand, but something more urgent cries for her attention. "Please, can she tell her where the bathroom is? She needs to pee."

"Certainly. The bathroom is right across your room. Do you need any assistance?"

"No! Nono! Thanks, she can do this alone."

_Pee assistance. No. No. definitely no. Mortifying just to think about. She can do this on her own. Yes. She doesn't need help. No. No._

She returns to the door, opens it again and hurries to the door across of hers after making sure the hallway is still abandoned.

Five minutes later she's done and washes her hands. There is a mirror over the sink. She stares at the reflection. An unfamiliar face stares back.

_This is her… me. This is me. This is me. I am her. But who is she?_

There are deep shadows beneath her… my (e/c) eyes. I ran my hand over my (h/c) hair. It is short, like it was shaven not so long ago but growing out again.

_This is me. This is what I am. What am I? Who am I?_

Her reflection doesn't respond. She splashes a handful of cold water into her face and opens the door to return back to her room but freezes because _there's someone in the hallway! In front of the door! Who is this! Who is he? What does he want? Why is he here? He's blocking her way! Oh no, no, no…_

Piercing blue eyes meet mine. None of us moves. The muffled sound of something crashing followed by a stifled curse breaks the tension between us. He flinches, his head snaps into the direction the noise came from and she uses his distraction to shut the door and lock it behind her. She stumbles back to the wall and sits down, trying to catch her breath.

She doesn't know how long she sits there, but she is aware that she can't stay in here forever, so she pushes herself back to her feet and returns to the door. "Friday?"

The bodiless voice answers immediately. "What do you need?"

"The man… is he still there?"

"Mister Barnes left about nine minutes ago."

"Nobody is outside?"

"No. The hallway is abandoned."

I crack the door open and peek through the gap. Nobody out there. After taking a deep breath I scoot back into my room, diving directly into my bed and taking cover beneath the blankets. I can't go back to sleep anymore, so I watch the sun rising at the horizon, colouring the sky and clouds crimson.

 

***

 

"Who is the girl?"

Tony Stark aka the Ironman shrieks in a very manly way and jumps from his chair, throwing his screwdriver at the former Winter Soldier behind him who catches it without even looking. "What the hell, Barnes? You almost gave me a heart attack! What did I tell you about your super-ninja-stealthy-thing?" he asks after he somewhat regained his composure.

"To not to do my super-ninja-stealthy-thing. Who is the girl?"

"Shouldn't you be sleeping?" Tony sighs. He receives an unimpressed stare. "Okay, okay." He snatches his screwdriver from Bucky's hand - very carefully, of course - and returns to his little project. The one that blew up only five minutes ago. "She was a Hydra-captive. Barton found her in the last Hydra-facility we took out. Couldn't find her name in the files yet and she doesn't remember anything. Emotional trauma, Wilson thinks. Or something like that. Do you know her?"

Bucky shifts on his feed, his eyes unfocused for a moment. "...No. No, I don't think so."

Tony hums thoughtfully. "Is that a good or not so good thing?"

"I want to read her files."

Tony turns his chair to look at him. "You think you get something from them? Like, memories?"

Bucky shrugs. "I don't know. Just give me the files."

"Whoa, keep it cool, man. It's half past four in the morning. You should get some sleep first. You clearly look like you need it." Another impassive glare. "Look, Robocop, Friday's busy decrypting the data. Most of the files are still unintelligible sequences of numbers and letters. I'll let you know when we get the first usable results, okay?"

Tony can almost hear the gears buzzing in Bucky's head. After two seconds Bucky gives him a curt nod and turns around, heading for the exit in his notorious, absolutley creepy predator-style.

"But talk to your fellow super soldier about it first!" Tony calls after him, but the ex-spyssassin already vanished into the shadows. Tony sighs exasperated and grabs his mug. Empty. He is torn between getting another shot of caffeine or being reasonable and try to get at least three or maybe four hours of sleep.

Pepper's not in the tower. Busy with keeping his business running…

Fuck reason, another cup of coffee it is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter isn't complete yet and since I'm actually learning for my exam now I don't know when I'm able to post it. But I promise it will be up the minute I finished it! :)


	4. Princess Stab

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahahahaha, look who said she's learning! Well, I am indeed learning and wrote 3/4 of the chapter this night so I only wasted sleep time instead of learn time. Precious. Sleep. Time. I'm sorry if this chapter is a bit weird, it's 3 am in my time zone and I should be sleeping. I love sleeping. What am I doing. Help.
> 
> Trigger-warnings: mentions of torture and cruelty. And grumpy Bucky ahead.
> 
> Aaaanyways, chapter 4, here you go.
> 
> ([ Lighthouse ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TfEu-djnDYI) from Jonathan Slatter as soundtrack for this chapter, I hope it fits the mood...)
> 
> ((And thanks for your comments, kudos, bookmarks and subscriptions! I love you, guys!))

The next day Sam paid their nameless guest - or Princess Stab, how Tony decided to call her - another visit. He tried to get her to talk, but she stayed taciturn, partly because of her immense mistrust towards everything and everyone and because she still doesn't remember what happened before they rescued her from Hydra. After about an hour of persuasion he was able to convince her to let Dr Cho examine her, though.

She got a major freak out when she spotted Dr Cho in her white lab coat but after another thirty minutes Sam got her to calm down again and trust him enough to let Dr Cho do her work. Her condition: No needles. After promising her that there wouldn't be any needles involved she actually endured getting through a MRI and x-ray photographs. Good thing they already got her blood sample when she was unconscious, but it would have been good to have a clean sample without the drugs floating everywhere. Later, maybe, when she learned to trust them.

After everything was done she was almost at the verge of hysteria and so tense it's a miracle she didn't snap clean into a half when she flinched after Sam accosted her.

_At least she didn't try to stab Helen or almost broke her arm and neck like a certain other amnesiac not so long ago,_ Tony muses. _Poor Helen, maybe I should rise her hazard pay._

Now she is back in the relative safety of her room, sitting at the window with some blankets protectively draped around her shoulders.

Finally, Dr Cho enters the room. Clint takes his feet from the table and Tony takes a big gulp of his coffee. He needs the caffeine after almost 48 hours without sleep. Natasha, Steve and Sam stop their discussion about god knows what. Everyone sits up a bit straighter, wanting to know what the doctor got for them.

The black haired doctor puts some pictures on the large screen and begins to explain:

"First of all: She is healthy. She doesn't show any auguries of recent malnutrition, physical torture or something similar. Except for the drugs in her system, she is physically speaking in a good shape."

"You said you didn't find indications of recent maltreatment," Natasha says while she studies the pictures on the screen.

"Yes. I've found signs of older injuries, which are completely healed by now. The latest are fractured costae verae 4 and 5 in her left thorax, about two years old." Doctor Cho magnifies an x-ray and points at the affected ribs.

"Which other injuries did you find?"

"About seven severe and a handful minor fractures scattered all over her skeleton. Every single one of them was properly medicated and some of them look like simple sport injuries. Others I suspect to be defence injuries, like the fractures in her ulnae and radii. I also found a variety of scars. Mostly surgical, but two minor burn scars as well. And one which I highly suspect to be an old stab wound. I don't know what to make out of all this."

"So… either she had a highly abusive family or Hydra did this to her. I don't know which is worse," Sam grumbles. "No wonder she doesn't remember."

General hums of agreement.

"Okay, we got a picture of her face, her DNA and her finger prints. I'll forward them to my contacts, but it may take a while before we get results; they're busy people," Barton says after some minutes.

Natasha nods. "I'll also see what I can do. I've got some favours to collect."

"You know," Tony says, staring in his empty mug, "we could ask the little Maximoff to have a look into her head. Maybe she'll find someth-"

"No."

Tony jumps to his feet, turning around to throw his mug at Bucky _who wasn't here five seconds ago!_ That sneaky bastard crept up to him _again_! "I swear to god, Barnes," he seethes, "you will be the death of me! You hear me? Death!" Bucky just gives him a blank stare, mixed with a hint of smugness and a lot more irritation. "When did you even get here?" Tony asks, snatching his cup from Bucky's hands ( _Fucking spyssassin-reflexes!_ )

He doesn't get an answer. Of course not. Sergeant Grimdark turns his head to Captain Stars and Stripes instead and says: "Don't let the Witch into her head."

"Bucky, what…"

"Don't let the Witch into the girl's head," he repeats, stressing each word, before he turns on his heels and leaves the room.

"Who told him about her?" Steve asks exasperated, already halfway to the door.

"Nobody spilled the milk, Cap. They sort of met last night. He pestered me about her afterwards, asked for her files. I told him to talk to you first… Guess he didn't," Tony explains without looking up from his mug.

"No, he didn't." Steve grumbles and follows his friend. He catches him at the end of the hallway.

"You didn't tell me about her," Bucky states before Steve can say anything.

"No, " he sighs, "But I would have as soon as we'd gotten more information about her. We don't know anything about her yet, not even her name."

"She didn't tell you?"

"She doesn't remember."

"She doesn't remember." Bucky's face stays blanc, but Steve notices the flash of anger and hatred in his friend's eyes. "We didn't find a chair," he hurries to add.

The rage in Bucky's eyes doesn't fade. "It's Hydra. You don't know what they did to her."

"I know... Listen, Buck, I didn't mean to-"

"Yeah. I know. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. It's just…"Bucky runs his flesh hand over his face, trying to find the right words. He fails.

It physically hurts Steve to see his friend in this state and not being able to help him, not being able to make everything okay this very second. He feels so damned helpless.

"Buck, don't be sorry…" Steve doesn't know what to do. His best friend's standing in front of him, right there, within arm's reach, visibly lost, and _he doesn't know what to do_. A big part of him wants to hug him, ruffle his hair and tell him everything will be okay. But another part - the rational part - knows it would be too much for Bucky to handle right now; too much emotion, too many memories, too many _lost_ memories. So he just put a hand on Bucky's shoulder and squeezes it. "… there's nothing to be sorry about. I should've told you when we came back."

Bucky tenses under the contact, but relaxes after a heartbeat. He even leans a little bit into Steve's touch. "It's okay, Steve. I understand. It's okay."

Steve nods and lets his hand linger for another second before he lets it fall to his side again. "Do you want to tell me why you don't want Wanda to have a look at 'Princes Stab'?" he asks, making quotation marks with his fingers at the name Tony gave the unnamed woman. Bucky's lips twitch into a tiny small at the mention of the nickname, but the next second it's swallowed and his face goes dark. "It's her mind, Steve. It's her last retreat. Her only hideout right now. The last safe place, the only place we can't reach. Hydra invaded her mind, tried to break her. They did break her. If we let the Witch go into her mind, we're not better than them."

Huh, this were more words than he said the last two days together, Steve thinks. "Wanda could help her to regain her memories…"

"No. Sometimes memories better stay forgotten."

Steve winces. "Buck…"

The former Winter-Soldier snaps out of his dark trail of thoughts. He notices the pain in Steve's eyes and his expression softens for the fraction of a second. "I'm sorry, Steve. I didn't mean it like that."

"…I know. And I understand your concerns. I tell the others that we won't let Wanda have a look at… Princess Stab. Wow, we really need a better name for her."

"Yeah." A tiny smile on Bucky's face. "Why calling her Princess Stab anyways?"

"Tony's idea. She stabbed Barton with a scalpel when he approached her back in the facility. And she almost got me, too - don't make that face, nothing happened. She didn't even scrape me."

"Bet Barton deserved it."

"Hey, I heard that!" Clint's scowling face pops up next to the corner.

"I know. Now stop spying and fuck off."

Clint flips him the bird "I wasn't spying. Friday decrypted the first bunch of data, thought you wanna know," he tells them and disappears again.

Steve grins and shakes his head. "Tony said you wanted to read her files?"

"…Yes."

"You think you remember something?"

"I don't know." A frustrated huff. "I just… want to do something." Maybe even help them. He wants to be able to help again. He doesn't want to feel useless anymore. _Give me something to do. Let me help the girl. Just… let me do something!_

"Okay."

"…Okay?"

"Yeah. It's not like I could stop you from trying anyways. Also, we could always use another pair of eyes. And maybe get some memories back. Who knows"

Bucky nods. "I… thank's."

"Come on, I bet Tony's already scouring the data." Steve tucks at Bucky's sleeve and walks back to the meeting room. Bucky hurries to follow him. "So… I heard you met her last night?"

"You could say so… I was checking the perimeter when she opened one of the doors."

Steve sighs silently. _Checking the perimeter_ is Bucky's euphemism for _I had nightmares_. He didn't sleep. Again. "Did she say something?"

"No, she just stared, like a deer in the headlights." He was doing the same, not that he's ever gonna admit this to Steve.

"And did you say something?"

Bucky shakes his head. "She locked the door before I could come up with something." And in the ten seconds they just stared at each other he was too busy with estimating her treat-level and thinking of twenty different ways to take her down. But he won't tell him that either.

"And then you decided to pay Tony a visit?"

Bucky shrugs. "He crashed one of his experiments again."

"Aha."

They reach the door to the meeting room. Steve grabs the door handle, but doesn't enter. "Are you sure you want to to this?" he asks, turning around to face his friend. "Who knows what we'll find in the files."

He's greeted with a glare. "I know that I probably won't like what we will find. I can handle it."

"You will tell me or the others when it becomes too much."

"Maybe. And now stop fussing around. We've got work to do!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I totally planned to have some Bucky/Reader interaction in this chapter, but then Bucky/Steve happened. Oh god. The feels. I wasn't prepared for the feels!
> 
> And again, I am no doctor and borrowed my medical 'knowledge' for this chapter from the interent. Please let me know if I got something wrong!


	5. The Good Guys, The Bad Guys

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovely people! I'm back, yay! Sorry for the long wait, I had much on my mind and a minor writer's-block, but anyways! Here is chapter numero 5 (which I saved as 'jhgl' on my laptop because I was too lazy to name it properly). And as a thank you for your patience, the kudos you left, the bookmarks, subscriptions and especially all your nice and encouraging comments I made this chapter longer than the previous ones.
> 
> Songs for this chapter: [ Leading ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UfwCBsyTw0c) by Goldmund, [ Nicolas Rieussec (Original Theme) ](http://www.marcusloeber.com/music/s/nicolas_rieussec_original_theme) by Marcus Loeber and last but not least: [ Marble Machine ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IvUU8joBb1Q) by Wintergatan*.
> 
> *Watch it, it is awesome! He built that freakin marble machine on his own and it makes MUSIC!  
> Trigger warning: Slight panic. And lot's of sugar I guess. I dunno. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

_It's warm and cosy. I'm warm and cosy. But it's cold outside. Snowflakes swirl through the air. So much snow_. _I can't remember ever having seen so much snow. But that means nothing since I still can't remember anything._ _Hehe. This shouldn't be so funny._

A knock at the door.

"Yes?"

Sam opens the door, a big smile plastered on his face. "Hey, can I come in?"

"Why do you always ask for permission?"

"Uh…" His smile falters. "Because it's your room? You can say no if you don't want me to come in."

"The… others, the scientists, never asked."

"Well, we are not Hydra," he tells me and leans against the doorframe, crossing his arms over his chest. He doesn't enter the room, though. "We are the good guys."

I squint my eyes at him. The good guys, huh? That remains to be seen. Sam _seems_ to be a nice guy, I give him that, even if he talks too much. He visits me every day for an hour or so and asks me questions, never getting angry when I can't answer them. And that doctor, Sam called her… Helen, yes Helen was it. She was friendly to me and didn't use needles. But that could change any minute. I know that. She is a doctor-  a scientist. Scientists love needles and they love stabbing people with them.

_Needles. Too much needles around doctors and scientists. They hurt people. Scientists are bad. No one is safe around scientists._

"You can come in," I tell Sam after a moment. I was tempted to send him away, but I don't want him to get mad at me.

His smile returns. "Actually… I would like you to come out."

I feel my heart speed up. "Come out. Like… leaving this room?" I ask. Just to be sure.

"You got it."

Oh hell no. "Why?"

"Because you're hiding long enough now. It's five days since you came here. There's a whole world outside this room waiting for you to explore it."

My voice doesn't really cooperate with me. "But… there could be _people_ out there!" I manage to croak.

Sam's features soften and he says: "Yes. There are people outside, but none of them is going to hurt you. On the contrary, they're keeping you safe right now and they try to find out who you actually are. They want to help you."

I'm not convinced. "Why would they do that?"

"Because we are the good guys, remember?"

"But I can't give anything back in return. I don't have mon-"

He raises a hand to interrupt me. "You don't need us do give back anything."

"I don't understand. Nobody does something for free. Everyone wants something."

He sighs. "I'm not gonna lie to you. We hope that you remember about your time with Hydra - the people which held you captive before we found you. You know, the bad guys. It would help us to interfere with their activities and maybe put an end to their machinations."

Fear jolts trough my heart. "But if she doesn't remember anything… She would be useless! What would you do then?"

"Nothing," he tells me with a serious expression. "It'd be okay if you don't remember. We would still help you. Because this is what we do: We help people."

She is… _I_ am not entirely convinced. My throat feels to tight and I swallow two or three times before the oppressive feelings in my chest slowly weaken. They don't vanish; a hard, cold knot in my chest remains. I don't like this sensation.

_I want to trust him. I want to trust Sam. I want to feel safe. Am I safe here? I want it to be safe. It's nice here. And warm. No needles. No pain. But is it really safe? I'm tired of being wary. I want to trust. I want to trust. I want to trust…_

Sam's still standing in the doorway, watching me with attentive eyes. "Hey, I could ask my friends to stay away from us while I show you around."

He really wants me to leave this room. I turn my head and stare out of the window. The snowfall ceased and left the world covered in a thin layer of white. It looks like… "Icing sugar."

"Icing sugar?"

"Yes. It looks like Icing sugar. The snow, I mean. I remember Icing sugar." _Icing sugar. White and sweet. So sweet. Powdery. Floating through the air if you breathe too much. And it clings to your clothes. Stains of white sweetness on soft fabric…_ "I'll have to meet your friends sooner or later, won't I?"

"Sooner or later, yes. But it doesn't have to be today, if you feel still feel uncomfortable."

_Good guy Sam. So nice. Too nice? Why is he so nice to me? What does he want from me? No. Nonononono. He's just a nice guy. He wants to help me. He said he just wants to help me…_

"You said you're the good guys."

"Yes."

I take a deep breath and turn my face back to him. "… Okay."

He unfolds his arms and straightens his composure. "Okay what?"

Another deep breath. "You don't have to send them away. It's… okay. I'm okay with meeting them."

"Are you sure?"

"No. But I might as well get over with it."

A warm smile spreads on Sam's face. "That's the spirit. Alright, follow me then. And don't worry, we won't leave the building."

I spread my fingers and smooth the fabric of my pants. Sam brought me some new clothes to wear instead of the hospital gown. My favourite clothing is the hoodie. It's too big for me, perfect to disappear in it. I'm glad I'm wearing it right now; it feels like wearing a fortress made of fabric, my personal armour.

Sam leads me out of my room through the hallway. A few minutes later we enter a big and open space. Involuntarily I step closer to Sam. This place is _huge_. And there are _people_. Okay, I only spot two, but two are two too much.

_Okay. No. No. I was wrong. I'm not ready for this. I want to go back. Can we go back? Please, I don't want this anymore!_

Before I can mouth my doubts and fears Sam walks further into the room leaving me back at the door. My breath hitches and my heart speeds up; I feel exposed and vulnerable without Sam at my side.

"Hey, you coming or what?" he stops a few feet away from me, an encouraging smile on his face.

I shoot him a desperate glare. "I… I don't think I'm…" I stop myself and close my mouth tight.

_They are the good people, Sam said. They want to help me. There's no need to be afraid of them. They are the good people._

I take a deep breath and hurry over to him, reclaiming the place at his right side.

"Everything okay?" he asks, looking down at me. I want to say yes, but that would be a lie, so I just give a noncommittal shrug. "You can tell me if it's too much for you. We can go back anytime, okay?"

"Okay. Thanks, Sam."

He smiles his warm smile. "Alright. This is the living room. Obviously…"

I follow him and listen carefully while he tells me about the tower. We are currently in the top floors, where the private quarters and labs of the Avengers are located. The lower levels are occupied by the different branches of a company named Stark Industries, which, how I learn, are owned by Tony Stark, who is an Avenger as well.

We leave the living room area without having talked to anyone (for which I'm very glad) and enter the kitchen. The _empty_ kitchen, much to my relief.

"Would you like something to drink? Coffee? Tea? Water? We have some juice, too." I stare at him, contemplating my possibilities. Will he be angry if I say no? As if he read my thoughts he adds: "You don't have to drink anything. But I'm going to have a hot chocolate."

He turns around and begins to meddle with what I guess is a giant coffee-machine. This gives me the opportunity to have a closer look at the kitchen. Like everything it's huge and I spot an enormous fridge. The surfaces are shiny and clean; I guess they either never use them or have a really good cleaner.

Then I notice the knife block.

_Sharp and shiny. But they are the good guys. The good guys, Sam said. Don't stab the good guys. But what if they aren't the good guys? Can I trust them? I want to trust them. I'm tired of being wary. So tired. Leave the knifes. I want to trust them. Sam is a nice guy. I think I trust him. I don't need a knife. I hope I don't need a knife. I really hope they are the good guys._

I get pulled out of my thoughts when the weird coffee-machine beeps. I watch Sam preparing his hot chocolate. Finally, he turns around, but why does he have two mugs in his hands? He smiles his ever present smile and hands me one of the mugs. "You wanna have some marshmallows in your chocolate?"

"Marshmallows?"

"You don't remember marshmallows? Hell, I knew Hydra is cruel, but that brings it to a whole new level…" he mutters, opening a cupboard, and reaches for a bag filled with white fluffy… things. He offers me one of them and after some hesitance I accept it and take a bite. It's sweet, a bit gummy but melting on my tongue at the same time. I… think I like it.

Twenty seconds later I have three mini marshmallows floating in my hot chocolate and Sam looks pretty pleased with himself while he's sipping his hot chocolate. "Feel free to raid the kitchen if you're hungry or want to have another hot chocolate," he tells me and leans back against a kitchen counter.

"Does that mean I can't eat in my room anymore?" Until now they kept me well fed; I got three generous meals a day which Sam delivered to my room.

"Nah, you can still have your meals in your room. But if you want to satisfy your sweet tooth or want a snack in between times you can come here and fetch yourself something. That's all I'm saying."

I blink at him, trying to sort all the information he threw at me. "Okay. Thanks, I guess."

"Tell me about your icing sugar-memory," he says after a short silence.

"My icing sugar… memory?"

"Yeah, you told me that you remember icing sugar. Was it a good memory? Or did you feel uncomfortable about it?"

I stare into my cup. The white pieces of marshmallows float in the dark brown fluid like sugary icebergs. "It was just an… impression. Of sweetness. And white powder floating through the air. It didn't feel… bad, I think. Does that help?"

He nods slowly. "It's a start. I can't promise you that you will regain your memories, but we can try."

"Regain my memories…" It never occurred to me that I could have them back one day. Do I even want them back? Well, it would be nice to know my name, to know who I was before I woke up in that facility. And… do I have family? Is there someone out there missing me?

_Should I miss someone?_

Sam starts to talk again and I should probably listen, but the thought of someone maybe waiting for me out there, even _missing_ me, takes too much of my attention. So I follow Sam when he leaves the kitchen and don't look where we're heading. This is until he unexpectedly stops and I almost walk into him. I look up from my mug and freeze.

"Hey Princess! Nice to finally see ya up well. And raiding my kitchen, I see," I'm greeted by a dark haired man with a well-kept goatee and a huge grin plastered on his face. My throat is suddenly very dry and before I know it I made a sidestep into the relative safety behind Sam's back. The man's features soften a bit. "Hey, I'm not going to hurt you," he raises his empty hands and wriggles his fingers, "See? No needles. I'm Tony by the way."

I glance up to Sam. He gives me an encouraging nod. "Tony is a friend."

_A friend. Sam's friend. One of the good guys. A nice guy. Sam said he wants to help me... Okay. I can do this. I can totally do this…_

I take a deep breath and manage shaky: "Hi." I hat the thin and raspy sound of my voice. Tony doesn't seem to be bothered by it, though, instead he beams at me. "She talked to me! You heard that, Sam? I'm honoured, your majesty!" He makes a small bow into my direction.

"Why do you call me that?" Hope blossoms in my chest and I feel my eyes widen. "Did you find something about me? Am I a princess? Is this why you call me a majesty?"

The two men stare down at me. I sink deep into my hoody and abscond back into Sam's shadow, embarrassment burning my cheeks. "I guess not," I whisper to myself.

"This was a serious question, wasn't it?"

"Tony, stop harassing the poor girl!" a woman's voice chimes up behind me. My head whips around, so fast I feel something crack in my neck. A woman stands behind us. Red curls frame her face and green eyes observe me closely.

 _Oh god, oh god, oh, god, who is she? What does she want? Do something, Sam! Send her away, send him away! Who are they? Is she one of the good guys too? So many people! Too many people! Sam,_ do _something!_

The tiny hairs on my neck raise under her intense gaze, but then her stern glance dissolves into a warm smile. "Hey there, I'm Natasha," she greets me, ignoring Tony's babbling.

I squint my eyes at her. Natasha. Yeah, I remember: The blue splotch called for her to drug me. "Hello, " I reply eventually, not wanting to upset her. Who knows what she'll do to me if she gets mad. Better to stay on her good side.

"How are you? Are the guys treating you all right?" she asks.

Sam huffs amused and earns a frown from me. Tony finally shuts up, a smirk on his lips.

"Yeah. I think so? No needles yet… and Sam doesn't get angry when I can't answer his questions. And that hot chocolate is great. He even gave me marshmallows."

"Whoa, so many words. Like, a waterfall of words." Tony says, earning an elbow into his ribs from Natasha. She hums. "Marshmallows, huh? Giving her a sugar high, aren't we, Sam?"

"Poor kid haven't had a decent hot chocolate in ages for all we know. She has to catch up to all the great stuff she missed. Or forgot about." Sam tells her with a chuckle. Tony stays silent, but his eyes start to glow and I can almost hear him thinking. "So many possibilities…" he finally whispers.

"Tony, you really shouldn't…"

Tony doesn't let her finish. "God, you're no fun, Romanoff!"

I stop listen to their bickering. My attention is drawn to the men stepping out of the elevator.

_Oh no. Oh nononononono! I know them! I remember them! Should've taken a knife! Sharp and shiny! Stab the bad guys! Stab them and run! Run and live! Oh god…_

I grab Sam's arm with my free hand. "Sam! The bad guys! There are the bad guys!"

"Huh?" He follows my panicked stare. And has the audacity to laugh. "Nah, they may be jerks but the good kind of jerks."

"Are you nuts?" I screech. "This one smashed a man's head against a wall and chased her through the facility! And the blue splotch attacked and hurt people! They wanted to drug her! They're dangerous! Not good, they aren't good. Bad, so bad…" I whispered the last words while watching the two men approaching us.

Sam squeezes her hand. "Hey, hey, calm down, okay? I promise they won't harm you."

_Calm down? She saw one of them kill a man! And the blue splotch wanted Natasha right here to drug her! Calm down her ass! Nonononono! Too many people! Too many dangerous people! She doesn't want to be here!_

She yanks her hand away from him and turns on her heels, running away from crazy Sam and his equally crazy and _dangerous_ friends.

_Run, run, run away but where to go? Where to go? She's in a freakin' skyscraper! The elevator is blocked, where are the stairs? There have to be stairs! Somewhere have to be stairs! Oh god, they're coming after her! Run faster! Faster! They must not get her again! Runrunrunrunrun…_

She hears footsteps behind her, voices calling out for her, but she ignores them. She can't trust them; they're all dangerous! A peek over her shoulder reveals that they are coming closer.

_Can't outrun them! Need something to defend herself! A knife, sharp and shiny! Stab the bad guys! Stab them and run and run and hide and live and be safe!_

The kitchen is ahead. Only a few steps more and She can get herself a knife!

She rounds the corner and - runs into someone's solid back. She stumbles back and loses her balance, only the strong hand grabbing her arm prevents her from falling.

Panic grows in her chest; the hand doesn't let go of her!

She looks up.

Icy blue eyes meet hers.

_Blue eyes in the dark. Cool. Calculating. But not threatening. Wary. She remembers him. She remembers him… Is he good? Or bad? No time to think about! They're already here! Need a decision, run or hide? Decision, decision now!_

"Please, help her! They can't get her! Please!" she begs. "They're dangerous! They can't get her again! Pleasepleaseplease…"

Steps outside.

She flinches and abscond behind his broad back. "Please help her, please help, please…" she whispers, clawing her fingers into the fabric of his shirt.

He doesn't move when they arrive at the door.

"Bucky-" Sam's voice.

"Fuck off, Sam." She feels tensed muscles shift beneath her fingers. 

 "- uh, excuse me?"

"I said fuck off!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, Bucky saves the day! 
> 
> Two things:  
> 1\. ~~Do you guys want me to put on the links to all the songs I recommend? I usually listen to them on Spotify... The music isn't essential for the story, but I think it it adds to the atmosphere...~~  
>  2\. What do you think about the chapter-length? Do you want me to continue with the longer chapters or should I return to the shorter ones? Shorter means faster updates (maybe^^)  
> Let me now! 
> 
> Until next time! Have some wonderful days! <3


	6. A(n unlikely) Friend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I watched Captain America: Civil War and it devastated me! It was so GREAT! I wanna watch it again so badly! 
> 
> But anyways, thanks again for leaving kudos and so many wonderful comments! You are awesome and I love you! Hugs for everyone! <3
> 
> Background songs for this chapter are [ aisatsana [102] ](https://soundcloud.com/mlysenko/12-aphex-twin-aisatsana-102-syro-album) by Aphex Twin and [ To The Sky ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EsR71zisyzY) by Dirk Maassen.
> 
> Eventual triggers: Light panic and angst. And even more sugar than in the last chapter. Eurgh.
> 
> Enjoy! :)

Two stairs upwards with fifteen steps each. Leave the staircase, go right, about twenty steps. Check for intruders.

James Buchanan "Bucky" Barnes, the former Winter Soldier, allows himself to relax a fraction; the kitchen is empty. He is aware that it's almost impossible for hostile agents to enter the tower unnoticed. But old habits, especially those carved into his head again and again during the last 70 years, die hard.

It's between breakfast and lunchtime; most of the tower's avenging inhabitants are scattered around the upper floors doing their own business. Steve and Clint are probably in their rooms, or went to the living room. The three of them were training together for the last two or three hours; James' hair is still damp from the shower. He and Steve sparred together while Clint polished his already more than perfect archery skills. _Fuckin' show off._

They took the elevator. James, though, is still wary of the small capsule made of steel, glass and plastic and used the stairs, as usual. The training hall is only two floors beneath the common rooms; thirty steps. A stone's throw. Nothing he would break into sweat over.

He walks over to the coffee machine, grabbing an apple from the fruit bowl to his left and a mug out of the cupboard on his right, and activates the monstrous machine. It's too luxurious, not to say decadent, like everything else in this tower, but it makes a damn good coffee, he has to admit that.

After all these years he spent his time either in his cryo-tank, scarcely furnished holding cells or hidden and waiting for his target to appear, the obviously ostentatious wealth feels inappropriate to him. He feels like it's trying to smother him. To his great relief Stark wasn't mad at him when he asked him to remove most of the unnecessary furniture from his rooms.

James takes the mug and adds some whipped cream onto his hot chocolate. He discovered that he is quiet the sweet tooth when Sam introduced him to the different varieties of hot beverages the coffee machine monster produces. Not that he told anyone. But he is sure Steve knows.

During his time with Hydra he didn't have wishes or even desires. They fed him, well enough to keep him healthy and nourished. Only the mission was important, there was no room for personal proclivities.

But Hydra is as good as dead, shattered around the world. And he is here, in this pompous kitchen finishing his apple and holding a cup filled with hot chocolate with _whipped cream_.

 _Take this, you fuckers_! A smug smile creeps onto Bucky's face. Then he listens up. Voices coming from the living room area. Slightly upset, but that's not uncommon here with a bunch of strong personalities living together. Friction and bicker are preprogrammed in this dysfunctional sort of… family.

Probably Stark with one of the others again. Pepper is not around to keep him company and without his science-bro Banner close by he has nobody to talk with about his crazy science stuff. _Poor guy, like a hamster on caffeine…_ he thinks, sipping happily from his chocolaty whipped cream.

Quick steps coming closer. Light, not like the ones of a heavy person. Probably Natasha or Wanda. But more likely Wanda. The Black Widow is nobody to lose her cool that easily. She would smack Stark's head if he gets cocky with her. Not like everyone would try anything with her, because the Black Widow is too fucking terrifying. Except for Clint maybe, but that man knows better than to irritate his best friend.

Something slams into his back, interrupting his musings. He whips around, mind going blank and back in fight mode, grabbing the attacker's arm. His mug shatters on the ground, the violent tinkle is followed by a deafening silence.

This is not Wanda. And not Natasha either.

Large eyes stare up to him and suddenly he tastes oatmeal cookies.

His confusion is washed away with panic and anger for allowing himself to drop his guard. Is she a treat? Six different ways to take her down run through his mind.

"Please, help her! They can't get her! Please!" Her distressed voice brings his thoughts to a stuttering halt. _What…?_ "They're dangerous! They can't get her again! Pleasepleaseplease…"

Someone is approaching the kitchen! The girl flinches; she heard the steps too. Another begging glance and she takes refugee behind him. He is too perplexed to stop her.

_What the fuck is happening?_

"Please help her, please help, please…" Fingers dig into the fabric of his shirt.

A second later Sam appears at the door. "Bucky-"

The room seems to shrink. Not enough space to think, making it hard to breath.  He needs time to think, to gather his thoughts. His mind is drifting apart. Sam can't enter the kitchen, not enough room. Not enough room!

"Fuck off, Sam" he grits between his teeth.

"-uh, excuse me?"

The girl behind him stopped to breathe. He stopped to breathe. He needs air. He takes a deep breath and repeats: "I said fuck off!"

Sam frowns. He opens his mouth to object, but somebody next to him says something. Sounds like Steve. After another five seconds Sam nods slowly. "We'll… be outside if you need us." He disappears from the entrance and Bucky's finally able to breathe normally again. He slumps against the kitchen counter, taking some deep breaths to calm his racing heart and mind. His gaze falls to the shards of his mug. The hot chocolate formed a complex pattern on the tiles.

He is painfully aware of the girl still hiding behind him. She's invading his personal space, her hand still clutching his shirt.

"He's gone," he says after some moments. Watching each of their moves on Fridays surveillance feeds. That's what he would do. An unstable ex assassin and a frightened girl in one room? Not the best mixture. He has to clear his throat.

The tension drops from the girl. She lets go of his shirt and draws back, leaving his backside cold and exposed. He turns around and his heartrate speeds up again: She's going for the knifes!

"Stop!"

 The girl recoils and clutches something in front of her chest. A mug, he notices, similar to the one now lying in shards on the floor.

"What do you think you're doing?" he asks.

She bites her lip. "She needs a knife. Sharp and shiny. To stab the bad guys." She is nervous, wary around him. She doesn't really trust him. No wonder. He wouldn't trust himself if he was in her situation.

"The bad guys," he repeats slowly.

She nods. "The blue splotch and his friend with the bow. Sam said they are the good guys, but he lied. She saw them hurting people. The bow-man crashed another man's skull against a wall and then he chased her."

 _The blue splotch and the bow-man._ Amusement fights its way in his agitated emotions. _Steve_ _and Clint. Remarkably accurate._ But there are more important matters he has to take care off. The scared girl in front of him for example.

"And what do you want to do now?" he asks, not sure how to handle this situation. This is Sam's area of expertise, he's usually on the receiving end and he never thought he would be in Sam's position one day. This day. Damnit. Now he wishes he didn't send Sam away. He could always ask him to come back, but he can't stand to have another person close to him right now.

He is on his own.

Fantastic.

She fiddles with her mug. "The elevator is blocked. Do you know where the stairs are?"

"You want to leave the tower?" She nods. "And then? What do you want to do after you left?"

Large (e/c) eyes stare at him. "Find a place to hide. Where nobody can find her. A safe place. She…" a deep intake of breath, "I… I want to be safe."

He understands. He really does. After the fall of the helicarriers he wandered around, searching for a safe place to hide, to recover and sort out the mess of thoughts and resurfacing memories in his head. He never stayed two nights at the same location, too great was his fear that Hydra would find him. He somehow ended up in Romania, where Steve finally pinned him down.

"This is a bad idea. You know, the people which kidnapped you, Hydra, are still out there, looking for you," he tells her, carefully watching her reaction. She frowns. "And you don't have money or clothes suitable for the cold." He crouches down and starts to pick up the shards of his mug, keeping the girl always in his line of sight. "You would die within two days. If you're lucky. Because if Hydra get their fingers on you again, you'll wish you were dead." He stands up and throws the shards into the bin. Fetching a towel, he turns back to her. She looks lost and vulnerable in her too large hoodie. One of Steve's if he isn't mistaken.

"I don't… what can I do?" she whispers.

"Stay," Bucky simply tells her and bends down to wipe the sugary mess from the tiles.

"But…"

"This is your best chance. Sam, Steve, Clint and the others… they aren't that bad. They're actually really nice. The people in the facility were doing evil things. Who knows what they did to you… Steve and Clint, the blue splotch and the bow-man, fought to stop them from continuing their work and hurting more people in their progress."

The tiles are finally clean. He dumps the sticky towel in the sink and leans against the counter. His mind is clear again, is thoughts running orderly. The talking forced him to focus on the here and now, anchoring to the present and preventing him from drifting back into the past.

"Why should I trust you? They could've been normal people trying to their work. Trying to help me…" she says after a minute or two.

"Why would normal people tie you to a chair if they wanted to help you?"

"I don't know… I could've been dangerous."

A smile tugs at his lips. "Yeah… maybe. But believe me, Hydra are the bad guys. The evil guys. I've read some the files Hydra had about you. They did some nasty shit with you. And I spent enough much time in their custody myself to know that they're evil bastards."

He was one of the bad guys too. But she doesn't need to know that. Not yet.

She puts her mug on the counter and hugs herself. "I don't know anything. I don't know who I am, if I have a family or friends. I don't know who to trust. I just… don't know! It's so damn confusing!" A tear rolls over her cheek. She wipes it away with one defiant movement.  "I'm scared," she admits. "I'm scared shitless."

He smiles at her use of curse words. There is some fighting spirit left in her. "I know. And it's okay to be scared." _I am too_. "You know; I wasn't able to remember many things for a long time, just like you now. I was confused and didn't know what to do." Why is he telling her that? He never told anyone about his state of mind at that time. This is nothing they need to know. And Steve is already worrying enough over him.

"But you remember now?" she asks with a sniffle.

"Yeah. Sam and Steve helped me a lot in this time. They want to help you too."

"Sam told me the same," she says. Her arms are still wrapped around her body. "He said he wants to help me."

"Sam is a good guy," James agrees. "Just don't tell him I said that."

She snickers. "Yeah. Good guy Sam. Do you trust him? Can I trust him?"

He nods. "Yeah, I trust Sam."

"Can I trust you?" She is serious again. Her voice is sad, but at the same time filled with hope.

He snorts. "Well, that's the one-million-dollar question, isn't it?" He doesn't always trust himself, to be honest. But: "You were the one asking me for help ten minutes ago. I leave it up to you… You wanna have another one?" he points at her abandoned mug on the counter.

She hesitates, but nods after a heartbeat. "Yes, thank you."

James grabs two clean mugs from the cupboard and walks over to the machine. "A hot chocolate?" he asks and adjusts the settings.

"Yes, with three marshmallows."

He grins. Sam's miracle weapon against all evil and discomfort, works every single time. "Alright. Hot chocolate with _three_ marshmallows it is then."

A couple of minutes later the mugs are filled with hot chocolate. He adds the three marshmallows into the girl's mug and some whipped cream to his.

"What is this?" she asks with a nod to his cup.

"Whipped cream. You wanna try?"

She nods and he hands her a spoon filled with his favourite whipped cream. Her eyes grow wide and she smiles while tasting the creamy sweetness. James wordlessly adds another portion to her mug and offers it to her. She accepts it with awe in her eyes. "Thank you so much," she whispers.

A warm feeling spreads through James' chest. "You're welcome. I'm James, by the way. But my friends call me Bucky."

"James…" she repeats. "Are we friends, James?"

"If you want to?"

"Alright. Bucky. I don't remember being a friend before, I'm probably not good at it."

He gives her a reassuring smile. "You'll do just fine."

"Thank you. I would love to give you my name, but I don't remember it either," she says, sadness creeping back into her voice.

"What do you want me to call you?"

"I don't know. That man, Tony, called me princess. But I am not a princess. It was very confusing."

 _Princess Stab_. Tony and his damned nicknames. "We will think of something. And if we're lucky we'll find your given name soon."

"Do you think so?"

He thinks at the mass of still encrypted data Friday is scouring through. Somewhere hidden in the files have to be her personal information. "Yes. But I don't know how long it will take to find your name."

"Well, it's not like I'm going anywhere anytime soon," she grumbles into her mug.

"Does that mean you want to stay?"

"You said I'll die if I leave. Or worse." She says cautious. "And you said Sam wants to help me. You are my friend. I trust you. I'll stay."

"Glad to hear that."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally some Bucky/Reader-action! Hooray, I got my shit together! Not sure if I'm really satisfied with this chapter, though... I hope I captured Bucky well enough for you, guys! He was so damn. Hard. To. Write!  
> Why you doin' this to me, Buck? ლ(ಠ益ಠლ)
> 
> I have no idea what to call the Reader until her given name is discovered. If you have suggenstions, please let me know in the comments!
> 
> Lots of love  
> the t_bird, yo!  
> (lol)


	7. Safe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, lovely people! Chapter 7 for you!
> 
> Music from Luke Howard: [ Oculus ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7jE-HPjwgX8) and no trigger-warnings. Enjoy! :)
> 
> (And again: Thanks for the kudos and your wondeful comments! <3)

"Looks like the situation is defused," Natasha says with a sip from her drink.

"Yeah, both Frosty McRoboarm and Princess Stab are alive and bonding over an overdose of sugar… Why the bitch face, Wilson?"

Sam's leaning against the bar, arms crossed over his chest. His eyes are trained on said pair which retreated to the couches some time ago. The young woman occasionally asks something and Bucky answers her questions patiently. "She lost her trust in me and befriends with an unstable ex-assassin and you ask me why I'm not happy?"

"Touché… I don't get why she even flipped her shit, though. I mean, she was doing fine and all and all of the sudden she's all flight mode," Tony says.

"The appearance of Steve and Clint triggered her. She handled us three pretty well."

" _You think there were too much people_?" Steve asks over radio. He and Clint returned to the floor beneath, not wanting to cause more problems.

Sam shakes his head. "No, she thinks you and Barton are the bad guys. Apparently she saw Clint crushing someone's skull… and she said you wanted to drug her?"

Steve's wince is almost audible. " _Just to calm her down. She was frantic when we found her_."

"Way to make a first impression."

" _Yeah. I know that too now, thanks Tony."_

"Would've been great if you told me before I made her leave her room and meet people."

" _Sorry, Sam."_

"Anything else I should know?"

 _"… No. I don't think so. Wait a sec… Clint says no, too_."

Sam sighs, relaxing a bit. "Okay."

" _How are they doing?"_

"Pretty good. No stabbing or violent flashbacks yet. It's almost boring to watch. They're just talking. Having a civil conversation," Tony reports dutifully.

" _About what_?"

"About things. Geez, Cap, they're alright. No need to spy on them more than necessary."

"Says the guy with a million security cameras in his building. Besides, she is everything else than alright. Remember all those tests Hydra made her go through?" Sam says without taking his gaze from Bucky and the Princess.

General hums of agreement. The files Friday decrypted so far are mostly test protocols and results. Mainly about her physical and psychic state. Harmless. But a few of them recorded cruel experiments, like the attempt to increase her pain tolerance. She has a legitimate reason for her aversion against needles.

" _Okay, guys. Update us if anything important happens_ ," Steve says with a sigh and ends the connection.

"It's like a tiny bird talking with a giant grizzly." Tony observes after a while, oddly fascinated. "Sickeningly adorable. Urgh, I guess we have to keep her."

Natasha cocks an eyebrow at him. "I remember you complaining about hosting another amnesiac refugee in your home only some days ago."

Sam chuckles: "You _do_ have a soft core underneath his armour of sass and arrogance after all!"

Tony huffs. "Just… look at her. She is like a child! Innocent and helpless and…"

"You don't know that," Natasha interrupts him, putting her empty glass on the table.

"I don't know what?"

"About her being innocent and helpless. Hydra had her for god knows how long. We have no idea about the expense of what they did to her. Or what the made her do."

"Wait, you think she could be a brainwashed assassin like Mister Stainless-Steel-Arm?" Tony asks bewildered and Sam takes his eyes off the two ex-captives to look at her.

Natasha returns their unbelieving stares with a roll of her eyes. "No. I'm not saying anything. I just want to remind you that we _don't know anything_ about her."

"Anyone told you yet that you're subtly paranoid, Romanoff?"

"Paranoia saved my life more than once."

Tony lets out an exaggeratedly exasperated sigh. "Okay. There's an easy way to solve this." He stands up and walks over to the couch were Bucky and the princess are being silent together. "Hey, princess! Are you an evil Hydra-assassin sent to infiltrate and kill us?"

Bucky glares at him. "What the fuck, Stark?"

"Pssh, I'm doing serious investigation here, Barnes."

The girl's eyes are wide like saucers. "I… I don't know? Am I? I hope not! That would be bad, wouldn't it?" She looks at Bucky. "I don't want to be an evil Hydra-assassin!"

Tony turns back to Sam and Natasha. "See? Not an evil spy!"

"Totally legit," Sam deadpans.

Tony raises his scotch glass at him. "Yeah, I know, right?" Natasha facepalms. "Okeydokey, after we clarified that we can go back to business. See you later!" He empties his Scotch and exits the living room, leaving the empty glass on the bar on his way out.

"Sometimes I just want to strangle him."

"We all do, Wilson. We all do," Natasha sighs, putting her glass down, and stands up. "But he's the only science-genius we have left since Banner decided to play hide and seek. Good luck with our princess."

"Yeah… thanks, Nat."

Grinning, she strolls away, patting Bucky's shoulder when she walks past him. "Hey, big guy. Lend me a hand in the workshop? Stark got some heavy stuff delivered today and needs help moving it around."

You don't have to be a spyssassin trained in the great game of lies and deception to see through that flimsy excuse. But Bucky doesn't bat an eyelash and nods. "Sure."

His newfound friend watches him with big, worried eyes scooping up their empty mugs.

Natasha sighs. "Hey, Princess?"

"Yes?"

"Don't worry, he isn't going anywhere."

Bucky gives her a small but encouraging smile. "Sam will take care of you. I'll be back in no time."

A forced smile and a curt nod is the only response he receives.

"Okay, see you soon, Princess."

Natasha pats his shoulder and walks to the door. He follows her after a second, releasing his breath and rolling his shoulder after they left the room. Natasha watches him with mock in her eyes. "Took on too much, Barnes?"

He shoots her a peaceful glare. "I didn't expect to be in this situation when I woke up today."

"None of us did."

A scoff. "She decided that we're friends now and apologized for not remembering how to be a friend literally the same breath."

"I bet you had a big déjà vu." She snickers. "Somehow it's funny that both people claiming to be shitty friends made friends with each other."

"Yeah. Wow. I'm dying of laughter, don't you see."

She smacks his arm. "I think you're doing great so far. Come on, you need a break from all that socializing and Sam needs some time to work his charming magic on our princess."

"Please tell me Stark _does_ have some heavy stuff to move."

 

***

_Bucky is gone. But he will come back eventually. No need to feel nervous. I'm safe. I'm safe. Sam is here. And Sam is a good guy. A good guy. Bucky trusts him. And I trust Bucky._

I frown.

_But why do I trust Bucky? I don't even know him… He makes me feel safe. Secure. How? I don't know… But it feels nice. Really nicesonice._

Sam's voice interrupts my silent musings. "Hey, Princess?"

I look up. He's still leaning against the bar where Tony and Natasha left him. "Yeah?"

"Do you mind if I have a seat?" He points at the couch next to mine.

_Good guy Sam. So polite._

"You really _are_ a good guy, Sam," I say with a giggle.

A smile splits his face. "I take that as a yes."

I nod and he sits down across from me.

"I'm sorry."

He raises an eyebrow, visibly surprised. "For what?"

"I don't know… for running away? And not trusting you. I guess."

He smiles sadly, shaking his head. "It's not your fault. I should be the one apologizing. If I had known what you saw back in the facility… I'm sorry."

"Sam? Thank you. For putting up with me."

"You're welcome, Princess. Are we friends again?"

 _Wait. Friends_ again? _Have we been friends before? Why is this friendshipthing so confusing…_

"Yes. Yes, I would like to be your friend."

_Friends are good. Friends aren't foes. Friends care for you. You care for them. Yes. I would like that. Really like that._

A relieved smile brightens his face. "Great!"

We remain in a comfortable silence for a couple of minutes, until Sam speaks up again. "May I ask what happened in the kitchen?"

I feel my face heating up. "I… I wanted to run away. To leave the tower and hide somewhere safe. I'm sorry… I was scared, you know... I thought you were a bad guy too. I wanted to find a safe place…"

"It's okay, Princess. I'm not mad at you. Nobody is."

"Thanks, Sam." I take a shaky breath. "Bucky talked to me. He explained why I shouldn't leave. That you are indeed the good guys and that you really want to help me."

"What did he say to convince you to stay?"

"He said… He said that he knows how it feels when you can't remember anything. That he was a captive of Hydra too once. That you and Steve and the others helped him and that you want to help me too. And that I would die if I leave the tower now. Or worse, if Hydra get their hands on me again."

"And do you believe him?"

I play with a cord of my hoodie. "… Yes. I trust him. Somehow I trust him. I don't know how. Or why. But I trust him. He's my friend now. But Sam… I don't know how to be a friend! What if I'm doing horrible? I don't want to be a horrible friend. To neither of you!"

Sam smiles again. His smiles never seem to actually leave his face. He really is a nice human being. "Don't worry about it too much. You will do just fine. Just be yourself."

_Bucky said the same. I'll do just fine, they said. What does it take to be a good friend? What is a good friend? Why is everything so complicated? What do I do, what do I do? Just be yourself. Just be myself. Could it be that easy? It doesn't seem to be enough. So complicated. Why?_

"Sam? I don't remember much about my time with Hydra. But what I remember… How can they be so cruel? How can they do so evil things to other people?"

"I don't know, Princess," he sighs. "I think some of them really think they're doing the right things. But the others… The others are evil bastards who don't need a reason to hurt other people. But I promise you that we're doing everything to stop them. All of us. Even if that means that we have to fight and hurt them."

"But if you fight them, you can get hurt too. I don't want you to get hurt."

His smile brightens. "That's nice of you to say. I wish I could tell you otherwise, but that happens sometimes. We don't want to get hurt, so don't worry, we're careful."

"Good," I say with a grim nod.

"Hey, I'm getting pretty hungry. You wanna go help me making dinner?"

"Uuh… I don't think I can cook."

He makes a dismissive gesture. "You can't be worse than Tony. He burns water if you give him access to the stove."

"How can someone burn water?"

"Exactly."

I stand up to follow Sam, still trying to figure out how one can actually burn water. "Wouldn't it evaporate before it gets burned?"

Sam laughs. "Yeah, it would."

"But how…" I interrupt myself. "Sam! There's a piano! That's a piano!"

He stops and follows my gaze. "Yes. It is."

"Sam…" I flex my fingers.  I wanna… can I try?"

"Go ahead."

I rush over to the musical instrument. _It's beautiful! So beautiful. Black and shiny_. I sit down, wriggling my fingers, and lay my fingers on the keys. Then I play some random notes.  It feels good. Natural even. As if my fingers know what to do.

"I know that tune."

I freeze and look up to Sam who followed me to the piano. "You do?"

"Yes. It's quite popular."

"What is it called?"

"[For Elise](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_mVW8tgGY_w). Beethoven wrote it, if I'm correct. A beautiful piece."

"For Elise…" I mumble, replaying the first couple of notes.

"Hey, what about you stay here and play some more. I'm going to make dinner in the meantime."

"Yeah…" I say absently. "I'll just stay here and… play…"

_Music. Notes. For Elise. I don't remember it. But my fingers do. I can play piano. Beautiful. So beautiful. I can produce something beautiful… My body remembers. I had a life before Hydra. I played piano. I'm playing piano. I had I life before Hydra. I was somebody. I was a person. I am a person. So beautiful. I'm playing the piano…_

***

 

"Hey!" Sam swats Bucky's hands with his spatula. "Dinner is not done yet!"

Bucky glares at him and pinches two or three noodles when Sam turns back to his pan with ragout.

"Where is the princess?" Natasha asks, hopping on the aisle.

"In the living room. She discovered the piano," Sam says, adding some herb to the sauce.

"She can play?"

"Her Beethoven was a bit jolty at the beginning, but now she's acing Debussy. So yes, you could say she can _play_."

"You left her alone?" Bucky asks with a frown, the pasta in his fingers forgotten.

Sam sighs. "She was okay with it. I asked her, okay? And - _What did I say about the dinner not being done yet_?"

Bucky demonstratively stuffs the noodles into his mouth, never breaking eye contact with Sam.

"You're an insufferable prick, Barnes."

"I hate you too, Wilson."

"And now kiss," Natasha mutters.

"I'd rather listen to Stark rambling about his science stuff until my brain bleeds out of my ears."

"Same here."

Natasha just rolls her eyes.

"Hey, Barnes, about the princess," Sam speaks up again.

"Yeah?"

"So, obviously you're her confidant."

Bucky's head snaps up, his hand hovering over the pastabowl. "I'm her confidant."

"You are her confidant," Sam confirms, pushing Bucky's hand away from the bowl.

"When did that happen? We only talked for, like, an hour. Tops. She doesn't even know me!"

"Must be your charming personality," Natasha drawls, inspecting her nails. Bucky shoots her an irritated glare which she parries with a big smirk.

Sam cuts in. "My guess? It was when you protected her in the kitchen."

"I didn't protect anyone."

"You sent us away, remember?"

"But… That was… it wasn't…" It was because the situation took him by surprise. He sent them away because he couldn't bear the presence of anymore people so close to him, not because he wanted to protect anyone. He was _this_ short from snapping.

"Whatever it was and why ever you did what, it doesn't matter. She trusts you. You were the knight in shiny armour in her time of need. She'll come to you if she needs to talk or has worries. You'll be the first to know when she remembers something."

"But… I can't. I'm the least trustworthy person in the whole fucking tower! I can't do this! I just… can't!" How could he? He doesn't even trust himself most of the time!

Sam takes the pan from the stove. "Hey, I'm not happy about it either, but since we can hardly do anything about it, let's make the best out of the situation."

"But…"

"Deal with it. Listen, I don't ask you to be her babysitter. Or therapist That’s… sort of my job. Just be her friend, okay?"

"Yeah, no. That's a really bad idea."

"Hey, you already agreed to be her friend. You can do that, Barnes!" Natasha says, giving him a friendly shove. "And you're not on your own. We're all here to help."

"Awesome." Sam claps his hands. "Since that's settled let's have some pasta. Barnes, would you be so nice and go get our princess?"

Bucky wants to contradict, but both, Sam and Natasha are giving him that _look_ , so he throws his arms into the air and grumbles. "Okay. _Okay._ " But he flips Sam the bird when he doesn't look.

He finds the princess in the living room, sitting in front of the piano. Her fingers seem to fly over the keys.

An image flashes in front of his eyes; _a tiny person sitting in front of a piano. Small, delicate. A child. Neck exposed. Fragile. He could snap it with one hand, easy. Or cut the throat. Death would occour within minutes. But that's not the mission. Follow the orders. Follow the orders. Compl -_ No!

He takes a deep breath, shaking his head to fight his way out of the flashback.

Breathe. Just breathe. He isn't the asset anymore. He is James Buchanan _fucking_ Bucky Barnes. He won't kill anyone. The past is past. Concentrate on the here and now, Barnes. The present matters.

"Claude Debussy, [Clair de lune](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CvFH_6DNRCY)."

She doesn't stop or even flinch when he speaks up, obviously lost in her music. "Yeah. If you say so…" she says absently.

"You're playing great." He means it.

"Thank you," she murmurs with a smile, closing her eyes. "I remembered something. There was a woman. She thought me to play. Very strict. She made me play the tunes over and over again when I made a mistake. She was tall and her hair was in a bun. But I can't see her face… I tried to, but there's nothing…"

Huh. "That's… good."

She plays the last notes. "I don't know. I don't think I liked that woman very much."

"You remembered something. That's a good thing."

"Yeah. I guess." She looks up to him. "It's confusing. I only see bits and pieces. Nothing makes sense. It's kind of… scary."

He feels a tiny stab in his heart. "I know. It'll get better. Not today or tomorrow. But someday."

"Are you better?"

He smiles. "Sometimes. Come on, Sam made pasta."

"I think I like pasta," she tells him with a thoughtful expression and slides from the stool. "Yeah. I like pasta." She grabs his hand and smiles at him. "Let's go eat Sam's pasta!"

A weird, warm sensation tingles in his chest. _Maybe_ , he thinks, _maybe I can actually do this. Maybe I can be her friend._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. What Natasha said: 'Tony's the only science-genius left.' What she meant: 'Tony's the billionaire who pays for everything. We'd be broke if we strangle him'  
> 2\. Sam. I adore Sam. He's awesome.  
> 3\. Since I love Bucky and Sam's frenemyship in Civil War I tried to slip it into the story, if you couldn't tell already.  
> 4\. I know, with all their psychological problems and poor mental health Bucky and the reader should visit a real psychotherapist, but I don't think any of you want to read about them doing rehab. So Sam has to play the role of the therapist for now. Please note: Mental health is a serious and important matter and if you have problems, please go and get professional help. You don't have to face them alone.  
>   
> That said, I hope you liked the chapter. Exciting things will happen in the next ones, so stay tuned! :)
> 
> p.s.: I'm on tumblr now. I'm still trying to figure everything out, but you can find me here [ tousled_bird ](https://itstousledbird.tumblr.com) if you want to ask me anything or want to talk about Lost Souls Found (I shall call it LoSoFo from now on) or any other random stuff.


	8. Visionary Surprises

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! 
> 
> I'm so sorry for my long absence! I was shocked to see that my last update was more than three months ago D:  
> But I'm back now! And LoSoFo isn't dead! On the contrary: I already wrote down a page for chapter 9! I'm so excited, you have no idea! From now on shit's getting serious!
> 
> And, yo, [ TheGreyEyedGirl](http://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGreyEyedGirl/pseuds/TheGreyEyedGirl) is an amazing person who gave me the chapter title, helped me with Vision's lines and the panic attack. Her constructive feedback really helped me to improve the chapter! Thank you so much, Grey! <3
> 
> Trigger warning: Panic attack.
> 
> No music this time. I couldn't find anything that seems to fit. If you have a suggestion, let me now :)
> 
> I hope you like this chapter (even if it's mostly a filler). Have fun!

Things are slowly getting better. Bucky has become the Princess' confidant, and whenever she isn't in her room, she's following him around like a duckling trailing its mother.

This, of course, didn't escape the notice of the other residents within the tower. None of them mention it though, at least when he is around; because whenever they so much as dare to open their mouth to make a comment, Bucky sends them his "glare of doom", promising to murder each and every of them in their sleep if they dared to mention it. Even Tony stopped making silly remarks after he received his first murderous glare.

Three days after her first meltdown, the Princess finally agreed to officially meet Steve and Clint under Sam's experienced guidance. It went pretty well: She was still not completely comfortable when they were around, but she didn't have a heart attack every time she saw them anymore. 

It was a great start. However, this first success was shortly followed by another major setback when she first met Vision:

She was in the kitchen with Sam and Bucky, where she was helping Sam cut vegetables for salad, when Vision suddenly rose from the floor. 

"Wanda wishes to know if she may assist you."

"What the hell?! Vision, we talked about this! The stairs are right over there!" Sam hissed. 

Vision paused when his eyes landed on the Princess. "My apologies. I can see that I have arrived at an… inconvenient time."

"No shit, Sherlock," Sam replied.

Both glanced at Bucky, who had wrapped his metal fingers around the knife in the Princess' trembling hands. It was a precaution; she was tense, practically petrified, and her eyes were wide with fear. 

"Vision!" Wanda's scolding voice hissed from outside of the door. She had obviously sprinted up the stairs when Vision launched and disappeared through the ceiling, but didn't dare to enter, sensing the Princess' distress from afar. "What did you do?"

"I, um… I believe that I should take my leave now," Vision said warily. He then turned to the Princess and added: "I offer you my humble apologies. It was not my intent to frighten you." He bowed and left the kitchen through the door like normal human being.

Bucky gently pried the knife from the Princess' fingers. Her wide eyes were still trained on the spot where Vision appeared, and she had become so still that Bucky could barely see her move or even breathe. "Hey, Princess."

No reaction.

She was as pale - so pale! -, and her chest was rising and falling at an increasingly alarming pace.

Bucky knew immediately what was happening to her: A panic attack. She was having a panic attack.  He suffered from them quite frequently in the past. And present. He knows about the tightness in the chest making it hard to breath, the raging heartbeat. The cold and all-consuming feeling of dread. But what to do?  _What could he do?_

He shot a worried glance to Sam, who stepped closer, lowering his body to be on eye-level with her. "Princess. Hey, can you look at me, please?"

Still no reaction.

When he reached out and touched her arm to get her attention, she recoiled violently, stumbling back against Bucky who wrapped his arm around her to prevent her from falling. It was a good thing that Bucky had disarmed the Princess previously: She would have stabbed him out of pure instinct if she still had the knife in her hand. 

She grabbed his arm instead, holding on to it as if her life depended on it. Her nails dug through the fabric of his shirt.

The only sound that could be heard through the silence were her strangled gasps for air, mixed with a distressed noise from deep from her chest.

"He came through the floor!" she whispered unbelieving. "What the… He… He… How?!"

"Breathe, Princess. You need to breathe."

"He came through the  _floor_!" 

Sam shook his head. "No. Stop. Look at me, Sweetheart. Just look at me."

She finally tore her gaze away from the floor Vision had just phased through, and turned to look at Sam. She was still breathing too way too fast and both men were becoming increasingly concerned. 

"Good! Very good. Now, follow my breathing, okay? Breathe with me. _In..._ and _out_...  _In..._ and _out.._." Sam inhaled slowly, paused, and exhaled, demonstrating for the Princess.

She stilled, her hands still clutching Bucky's arm as if he was the only solid thing left. Then, she began to follow Sam's breathing exercises, relaxing more and more with each calming breath.

"Could she… I… I mean, _I_... I need to… to sit down. May I sit down… please?" she asked after some minutes, still breathless.

Bucky let go of her, allowing her to sit down. She leaned back against the counter and pulled her knees up to her chest, burying her head beneath her arms.

Sam muttered something under his breath, shaking his head, while Bucky stood next to her, not sure what to do, before he crouched down. "You alright there, Doll?"

She didn't answer immediately, but after some shaky breaths, she looked up and asked: "Who was he?"

"His name is Vision. He's…" the soldier paused and searched for the right words.

"Unused to what we would consider to be normal human habits?" Sam offered. 

Bucky scoffed. "Yeah. I guess you could say that."

"But... But how did he do that? He came through the frigging floor!" Her voice, despite being a bit shaky, grew stronger with each sentence she spoke.

"He is… due to exceptional circumstances… Uh, well… let's just say he's quite an extraordinary being," Sam concluded, earning yet another scoff from Bucky.

"That was one hell of an unhelpful answer there, Wilson."

"I wanna see you try explaining the concept of Vision's existence to her, Barnes."

"He came through the floor…" the Princess repeated. "That's kind of… awesome!"

The both men stared at her. 

"So awesome," she whispered again, making Sam chuckle.

Bucky allowed himself to relax. "You're sure you're okay, Princess?" he asked again.

"Yeah. I think so… Oh. Oh no, did I do that? Did I hurt you?" She leaned forward suddenly and touched Bucky's arm, where her nails had left visible imprints in the fabric of his shirt, and probably in his skin beneath, too.

He rubbed his metal hand over his sleeve to smooth out the imprints. "Nah. I'm okay, Doll."

It was obvious that she didn't believe him, so he rolled up his sleeve and showed her his arm. The once angry red marks were almost gone. "See, everything's okay."

"But did I hurt you? I didn't want to hurt you. I'm so, so sorry…"

Bucky patted her hand. "Hey, I said everything's okay. Don't worry, Princess, no harm done."

He truly meant that. Pain, yes, he knows pain. Pain is familiar; it's an old and well-known companion to him. He knows how to handle pain. 

Emotions, however, are something completely different. Emotions are not his expertise. He wasn't trained to handle emotions, which is why he's happy to have Sam around. Sam knows what to do with emotions, but would definitely become a pain in the ass if he ever heard Bucky say it out loud.  But he helped the princess to calm down and prevented him from freaking out. This is why Sam got a pat on his shoulder. A silent thank you. For not being a little shit sometimes.

Fifteen minutes after this… incident, they served a delicious salad. The princess had insisted to finish it after she calmed down enough for Bucky to trust her with a knife again.

Later that evening the Princess got introduced to Wanda and Vision. Strangely enough she had fewer resentments against the red skinned android and the young woman with destructive mindpowers than she had against blue-splotch-Steve and bowman-Clint.

"Well, neither of them crushed a guy's head while she was watching. Or wanted to drug her." Bucky said with a shrug. The two super soldiers were sitting on the couches, accompanied by Clint, while the Princess was talking with Vision.

Clint opened his mouth to reply, but then he turned to Steve, frowning. "I don't want to admit it, but he does have a point." Then a grin spread over his face. "Man, Cap, I bet it sucks to be considered as a villain!"

"Yeah Steve, welcome to 'Club Miscreant'," Bucky couldn't hide his smirk. "How does it feel to be on the dark side for the first time?"

The Princess saved Steve from an answer. "Um… Hey, can I… is it okay, if… if I have a seat?"

The three men looked up. She stood behind the couch, her eyes darting between their faces without really focusing on any of them but on Bucky.

"Yeah. Yeah, of course. Sit down. You alright?" Bucky scooted over to make space for her.

"Thank you…" She hesitated, but sat down eventually. "I'm okay, I think. It's just… difficult."

Bucky nodded. He knew what she meant. "So, you got to talk with Wanda and Vision."

"Yeah. Wanda is really nice. And sad. She tries to hide it, but I it was in her eyes. I could see it in her eyes." She became unfocused for some moments before she continued: "Vision is kind. And very polite. He explained me who he is and how he is able to float through walls and floors."

"Oh, he did?" Clint quipped.

Her eyes darted to him, only for a second. "I didn't understand most of what he said. He told me about a grumpy robot who tried to take over the world?"

Steve snorted and Clint could barely supress his giggling. "One way to call this clusterfuck."

"Wait, this really happened?"

"Yeah. A long and ugly story."

"Is this how you got hurt?" She tapped a finger against the back of Bucky's metal hand. He fought the reflex to pull his hand away. "No. I was… elsewhere at this time," he said with tense shoulders, expecting her to ask more questions. About his arm. About his past. About Hydra.

She didn't ask. She only hummed an "Okay," and fell silent. Not long after that they called it a day after noticing her drooping eyelids.

It had been an exhausting day and she was out cold the second her head touched her pillow.

"She really likes you," Wanda told him later that evening. He stared at her, anger bubbling in his chest, but she held up her hand before he could've said anything. "Keep calm. I didn't read her mind. It's just… her feelings are very intense, surrounding her like a fog, or an aura. Confusion, worry, insecurity… It's hard for me not to notice them. She calms down when you're around, though. You're her anchor. It's all kind of cute, you know?" She grinned at his murderous glare and left him at the table to join Clint and Sam in front of the television.

She had told him the truth: She never actively snuck into the Princess' head, but she could feel enough, and beneath all her emotions and thoughts fluttering through her mind Wanda sensed some sort of barrier, a dam holding back her memories and everything connected with them. But was it natural or artificial? She couldn't answer this question without directly scooping her mind, but that was off the limits. For one, Bucky didn't want her to do it, and secondly and more important: She respects the privacy of the mind (at least most of the times, except she has a very good reason not to) and she couldn't predict what would happen to the Princess if she breaks the wall in her mind.

She could do more damage than good.

The next two days were uneventful. Well, except for the one time Tony had blown up his lab. Again. Natasha had forced him to go to sleep after that, threatening to call Pepper on him if he won't stay in bed for at least eight hours.

The strange - but not unwelcomed - silence lasts for about twelve hours now. But then Friday informs the avenging part of the tower's inhabitants to assemble in the meeting room. Tony is already there, well rested and with a bowl of currants in his hands. He is swiping through a bunch of holographic photographs in front of him. Clint resists the urge to make a joke about Tony being back from the dead, because Tony has his serious business face going on, which is reserved for only the… well, most serious situations.

"Okay, guys. Listen up, shit is serious;" (See), "Friday found something about our little Miss Buzz Cut," he says without preamble after the last team member arrived. With a flick of his wrist he magnifies one particular photo so that everyone is able to inspect it.

"What do we look at?"  Steve asks.

"A family portrait. Caption says Victoria and James Johnson with their daughter Anna, dated two years ago."

"Looks fake," Natasha says.

Tony nods. "It is. Friday checked: There is no family named Johnson living at the mentioned address."

"Hydra?"

"Most likely."

"I don't understand… Why would Hydra fake a family portrait with her?"

"It belongs to a missing person report published about half an hour ago."

"If lost, return to Hydra-mom and -dad," Clint mumbles darkly.

Sam rubs his chin. "They want her back; that was to be expected. But why this amateurish method? It doesn't make any sense."

"Yeah, well, that's not all of it. We found some hidden data in the picture, giving us coordinates somewhere down in Brazil and limited access to a server I think belongs to Hydra."

"What the actual fuck?"                                                                                                                                                         

"A trap?"

"I dunno. Our spymasters tell us."

"What's at the coordinates?" Natasha asks.

Tony types on his keyboard and brings up another picture. "Some sort of fancy hotel."

"Hm…" Natasha folds her hands in front of her mouth and reads through the information of the hotel displayed on the screen.

"What about the Hydra server? Did you get anything useful from it?" This question comes from Clint.

"Not so much. I got some recorded transfers of large sums to various bank accounts before they noticed us and blocked our access. Friday's checking the names behind them."

"What were the transfers for?"

"I dunno. They didn't put subjects on any of the transfers."

Natasha shakes her head. "I can't wrap my head around this. Hydra would never give us the location of one of their bases, at least not voluntarily…."

"But it's too obvious to be a trap. They can't actually believe we'd be stupid enough to fall for this," Clint finishes the sentence. Natasha nods.

"Boss, the missing report vanished from the websites," Fridays voice chimes in.

"It did what?"

"Somebody removed it approximately two minutes ago."

"What the…" Tony's hands run over the keyboard, but all he can do is confirm Fridays information.

Clint throws his hand over his head. "I don't get it. What do they want to accomplish with this?" he mutters under his breath. Then he perks up. "Maybe a mole?"

Natasha nods. "It's a possibility. Maybe the same guy that gave us the lead on the last base?"

"Why would some Hydra-agent switch loyalties?" Steve asks with a frown.

"Maybe they're fed up with them. Or Hydra stepped on their toes. Or they simply had sympathy with our Princess. Who knows?"

"Sympathy with the Princess?" Wanda asks. A person affiliated with Hydra feeling sorry for a project. A lab rat. "I don't think so." Her voice is bitter.

Clint shrugs. "Well, somebody made sure we'd attack the last base and find the Princess in the process. And now someone else -  or maybe the same person, who knows? - used her picture to submit the message, didn't they?"

"Okay, could be all of it, could be none. We don't know. The question is: What are we gonna do with the information?" Steve throws in.

The room falls silent while everybody thinks about it.

"We should go in," Tony says after some minutes. Most of the others nod, but Wanda looks at Sam with a questioning look. "Sam?" Everyone follows her gaze.

Sam rubs his chin. "What if this is a bluff to lure us out of the tower?"

"To do what?"

"To get the Princess back while we are out of town," Vision explains with a nod. He has been quiet for the last minutes, deep in thought. "She would be vulnerable without us being here to protect her." Sam nods.

"Well… That's a possibility I haven't thought of," Natasha agrees slowly.

Tony snorts. "Nobody attacks my tower."

"Loki did."

"Loki was a freakin' demi god. And we kicked his ass."

"Ultron?"

"Urgh, fine! Nobody attacks my tower and gets away with it!"

Sam interrupts the banter: "I still think we should go and have a look at this hotel. I'll stay here and have an eye at the Princess, though. I'm sure Hill will help too."

"You think Hydra would risk an ambush on the Avengers' headquarters to get her back?"

"We still don't know the whole extent of what they did to her. Maybe she has some important intel hidden in her locked up memories? Or maybe it's none of it and they won't come after her. Hell if I know."

"I'll leave some units of the Legion here. If Hydra dares to attack, they will be greeted by my boys. And anyways, Sargent Spangles will remove the limbs of everyone who comes at him or tries to lay a hand on the Princess with a dull knife."

Steve glares at Tony, but doesn't object.

"I agree. Maybe the whole thing is a hoax, but if it's not, we have to take care of that Hydra-outpost," Wanda says.

Natasha and Clint nod. Steve hesitates; Sam and Vision's argument echo in his head. What if Hydra attacked?  Tony's robots are a force to reckon with and Bucky would be able to fend anyone off who'd break through their lines, but at what cost? What if he fell back into his Winter Soldier persona? So much could go bad… And the girl just escaped from Hydra. She is so fragile; she wouldn't survive long in their clutches. They can't allow them to get her back. But Sam and Tony are right: The tower is the safest place Steve can think of, and Bucky isn't incapable. Sam and Maria will look after them, both being exceptionally skilled and experienced fighters. Together with the robots…

Steve sighs and nods. "Okay. It's settled then. We'll move out tomorrow at ten."

The group dissolves. Sam pats Steve's shoulder. "I go and tell the Princess what happened. A diluted version, of course. You should talk to Barnes."

"He won't like it."

"Yeah. 'tis the reason you're gonna talk to him. I like my face."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'till next time, lovelies! <3
> 
> (Psst: Find me on [ tumblr](https://itstousledbird.tumblr.com/)! )


	9. Worries

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short one. Like, really short. 
> 
> Song: [ Lonely One ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L37Zh-Qgs3w) by Heroic.
> 
> ~~No trigger warnings.~~ Correction: Angst.

The tower is empty. Almost everyone is gone. Steve and Clint and Wanda and Vision and Tony left yesterday to deal with another Hydra-cell. That's what Sam told me. Only he and Bucky and some woman named Hill are still here. I haven't seen the nice doctor, Helen, since the others left, but I'm sure she's still around somewhere in the tower. I still don't trust her - _doctor_ _scientist needles_ \- but at least she is still here. At the tower. In _safety_.

The blu- _Steve_ and Clint and Natasha and… all of them are out there, far away from the tower and… not _here_!  It's too quiet without Tony's constant babbling and Clint's teasing. It's just... wrong!

They shouldn't have left. They shouldn't have… something bad is gonna happen. I know it. I just know it. I tried to stop them from leaving. I told them that it is a bad idea - _so bad, oh god, so incredibly bad, they will get hurt, someone will get hurt, oh god, oh god, what if someone dies?_ \- that they should not leave but nobody listened to me. We will be fine, Steve said, it's not the first time we're doing this. As if that makes it better.

Bucky isn't happy about them leaving either. I saw him arguing with Steve. They spoke with low voices, but Bucky's posture and his expression showed his agitation. I don't know what Steve told him, but after some minutes Bucky's face went blank and he just nodded at Steve's argument.

And then they left. I told Steve that they shouldn't go. That I have really bad feeling about this. He asked me if I remembered something about a hotel in Brazil. I didn't. I still don't, but the bad feeling is still in my stomach. Stronger than ever. Steve promised me to be careful and said that I shouldn't worry. That I don't have to be afraid because Bucky and Sam are staying with me.

Sam asked me what I'm afraid of after the team left. The thing is: I don't know. I think it would help to actually know what I'm fearing but… I can't name it. It's an ominous feeling that something bad will happen soon. And it will be worse than bad. The dread is like a cold, hard knot in my stomach and it won't go away.

_Something will happen. Something bad so bad worse than bad. But what? I wantto_ need _to know! I need to know so I can tell Bucky or Sam so that they can do something about it. But I don't know. I don't know and it's so bad so bad._

This is how it is now. I'm afraid of something I can't name and worrying about people I hardly know. Bucky is worrying too. He tries to hide it, but it's pretty obvious: Sometimes he sits next to me, listening to me playing piano. Or we talk about random stuff. More than that, though, he disappears into the depths if the tower. Sam said he's wandering around or visiting the gym to get rid of his restlessness and tension.

I'm never alone. Bucky is here, and even if he's not around I know that he isn't far. Sam is with me almost the whole time and the new woman - she introduced herself as Maria - occupied one of the conference rooms and is working on… something. Which includes a lot of reading and writing and typing onto a laptop. I am thankful for their presence. I would've gone mad without them. In one of her few breaks she came to me and complimented me on my playing. She seems nice.

I'm always playing now. Except when I have to use the toilet or while dinner. It helps me to keep calm and occupies my mind for one or two hours before my thoughts begin to wander and the cold dread fills my stomach again.

Sam seems to be unfazed by the general tension in the air. He's reading a book and provides us all with snacks and hot chocolate or coffee every now and then.

I sit in front of the piano letting my fingers fly over the keys without paying attention to the notes. My thoughts are drifting again. There's a helicopter outside. It circles the tower, diving between the skyscrapers. It is it's twelfth round since I started counting. The sun is setting once more, it disappeared behind the horizon a couple of minutes ago, leaving the vibrant colors already behind. Soft pinks and violets change into darker blues.

The helicopter finishes another round. Number thirteen.

I hear footsteps behind me. "Hey... You wanna have another chocolate?", Sam asks, his voice soft.

I tear my eyes from the view in front of me and smile at him. "Yes, thank you."

"Alright. Be right back." He nods at walks toward the kitchen and I turn my eyes back to the helicopter.

Sam's phone starts to ring right when he leaves the living room area.

_News? From the team? Good or bad? Or something someone entirely else? Does Sam have a family? A mom? And... a dad? Siblings...? Grand...parents..._

My thoughts stumble. I stare at the rhythmically blinking lights of the helicopter.

White.

White.

Red.

White.

Blue.

Red.

White.

White…

Time slows.

I remember...

_She_ remembers.

The lights go out. Darkness. Everywhere. In the sky. In the tower. In her mind.

She screams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't proofread, so please tell me when/if there are any typos. 
> 
> I've got the next chapter finished and will post it in a few days. 
> 
> <3


	10. Calm Before The Storm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promised a fast update. Have a semi fast update instead.
> 
> Please listen to: [ Chopin - Variation on Nocturne in F Minor Op. 55 No. 1](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oQyqE7eGqDA) played by Chad Lawson. I love this one. It's one of my favourites!
> 
> No trigger-warnings for this one.
> 
> Enjoy :)

Soft notes fill the calm air of the evening.

The Princess really has talent, Sam thinks absently and wonders for the hundredths time who the young woman actually is. What is her name? Who taught her to play? Maybe - hopefully - Steve and the others find some answers in that fancy Hydra-hotel-base.

Speaking of: No updates.

The team arrived in Brazil yesterday evening. They should be neck deep into action right now.

Sam sighs. No news is good news. But damn, he'd love to know what's going on down there right now.

He stands up and walks over to the piano, stifling a yawn. "You wanna have another chocolate?", he asks the Princess, who is staring out of the window while her fingers keep running over the keys.

"Yes. Thank you," she says with a smile.

He nods and heads over to the kitchen, stretching his back. He needs coffee. Hill could probably use some more caffeine as well.

What did he become. Sam Wilson, the coffee guy. Ha.

He only notices the ring of his phone after the second alarm. He fishes the phone out of his pocket and accepts the call.

"Sam? Sam!" Natasha's upset voice comes through the speaker before Sam is able to say anything.

His stomach drops. Natasha is upset. Natasha is _never_ upset. What happened? Something happened, and it has to be bad. Really bad.

"Yeah, Nat? What happened? Are you alright? Is everyone okay?"

"We're fine! Sam, listen! Where's the girl?"

"She's… She's alright. She's in the living room…"

Suddenly the lights go out. He's standing in darkness; the only light comes through the windows from some still lit skyscrapers close by. Some of the buildings nearby also lost their power; black giants between colums of light.

The Princess' random melody isn't playing anymore. When did she stop?

"What…"

"Sam? What's going on?"

A crash. Glass tinkling. Followed by a scream.

_The Princess!_

"Oh shit!" Sam reacts without thinking. He turns on his heels and runs back to the living room. "Nat, can't talk right now!"

"Sam, no! Nonononononono! Stop! Listen: You've got enemy forces in the tower! It's not safe anymore!"

Sam curses under his breath. "Hydra?"

"Yes, but Sam…"

Sam arrives at the piano. The shattered remains of the vase once standing on a small table next to the piano glisten in the darkness. The gerberas spread over the floor, however, are unscathed. Water drips from the petals and forms a puddle on the tiles. The chair is knocked over.

The Princess is nowhere to be seen.

"Sam! Sam wh…"

A movement on his right catches his attention. He turns around.

_Oh shit_.

Pain splits his head. White stars explode in front of his eyes.

Then... blackness.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Psst: We reached chapter 10! Yay! Thanks for sticking with me, guys! I love you so much <3)


	11. Where The Hydra Goons Roam

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the cliffhangers. I hate cliffhangers. Please accept this additional chapter as an apology. It's a long chapter. In which Natasha is a badass motherfucker kicking ass and being awesome. Because she's exactly that. Period.
> 
> Trigger: Violence.
> 
> Music: [The Plan](https://soundcloud.com/livinglars/lars-erik-fj-sne-arslan-8) by Lars Erik Fjøsne, Arslan Qureshi & Mike Hillard.
> 
> (please hover your mouse over the Russian word I slipped in for instant-translation. If that's not possible for you, I've put the translation in the end notes, too.)
> 
> ((It's not my best chapter. I finished it today at 4am. Have mercy.))

 

A hotel. Nothing too fancy, but decent enough, with a pool and some greenery. A handful of people went in, some left in the past two hours. Nothing out of the ordinary. Really. A hotel as boring as it can get.

Tony had Friday check the coordinates thrice already and yes, indeed, this is the correct location, Boss.

"Are we sure this is Hydra?", Steve asks.

The team set up their temporary center of operation not far from the hotel in question. Tony rented an empty floor in a bureau building on their flight down to Brazil.

"Yes and no," Wanda says over radio. She's sitting in a restaurant across from the hotel, observing the building complex with her eyes and, far more important, listens to the people's minds. "Most of them are Hydra, but there are civilians, too. They are plain vacationers and have no idea of the evil agents amongst them. Some have children with them."

"That is unfortunate. Severe collateral damage is inevitable if we chose to attack directly," Vision states.

Steve nods. "Vision is right. We can't just barge in and start shooting."

"What's our plan then?"

"I can infiltrate the hotel and search for their local databanks," Natasha offers.

"You sure? You're on your own once you're in."

Natasha rolls her eyes. "Steve. I'm a spy. I tricked security far more ingenious than this without backup when I was fourteen."

Steve raises his hands in defeat. "I'm sorry. What do you need?"

She smirks.

***

Later that day in the early evening, a middle aged couple get out of a taxi in front of the not too fancy but decent hotel with a pool and some greenery.

The woman, clad in a red summer dress with flower-print and a large sun hat on top of her carefully coiffed hair, sighs in relieve when she steps into the cooled air of the lobby. The she turns around in expectation to see her spouse next to her, but the poor man was still outside and struggling with their luggage.

"Harold? Harold, where- what takes you so long?"

"I'm coming, Clarice dear, I'm coming," Harold puffs and finally enters the lobby, dragging their suitcases and bags with him. He's wearing knee long pants in beige and a light blue shirt tucked into his belt. At least he doesn't wear white socks in his sandals. No, his feet are wrapped in a pair of comfy leather shoes. A pair of sunglasses sits on top of his grey hair, and he has hearing aids in both ears.  "I'm not a young lad anymore, you know. It'd help if you lend me a hand with these cases!"

Clarice snorts. "Don't be ridiculous! I would ruin my manicure." She steps to the reception desk, where the employee hurries to hide his amusement. "Hello there! Clarice and Harold Bloomsfield. We booked a room, reservation number… Harold, what is our reservation number?"

Harold sighs and reaches into his purse hanging around his neck and pulls out the printed version of the reservation confirmation. Without a word he slips it over the desk towards the employee. Clarice beams at his husband. "He thought of everything!" Harold shrugs, but can't really hide his pleased smile.

"Thank you," the employee says - his name tag identifies him as Rodrigo - and scans the barcode in the lower corner of the paper. "I'll need your passports to verify your reservation."

"Of course, of course! Harold?" Once again Harold reaches into his purse and pulls out their papers.

The employee -  Rodrigo - checks them. The reservation was made three months ago. Their IDs are sound. Everything is okay. Of course it is. Why on earth wouldn't it?

"Excellent. Mr. Bloomfield, Mrs. Bloomfield, here are your keycards, room 212, second floor. There's a lift around the corner," he says with a glance at the Bloomfield's luggage and adds: "Breakfast is from six thirty to twelve. Dinner starts at six in the evening. Reception is manned around the clock if you have any questions. Have a pleasant stay!"

"Oh, we will, we will!", Clarice chirps.

Harold's grin seems a little bit forced. "Yeah, she'll make sure of it."

Clarice throws a last blinding smile at Rodrigo and glides toward the lift, leaving her spouse with the luggage. Again.

Harold spares Rodrigo a suffering glance, but declines his offer to help him carrying the bags. Five minutes later he joins Clarice in the lift. After another en minutes they enter their room. It's not that large, but large enough for a middle class couple's one-and-a-half-week vacation. A king size bed dominates the room, tiny chocolates on the pillows included. A desk with safe, TV and closet complete the furnishing. The window shows the green of a treetop. A door leads to the small but clean bathroom.

The bags are deposited on the bed. Neither Harold nor Clarice speak while they search the room for bugs. They find three in the main room, another on in the bathroom behind the mirror. They deactivate them. They won't spend enough time here for Hydra to notice the lack of transmission.

Harold reaches for the 'hearing aid' in his right ear and opens the communication channel. "We're in."

"Good _,_ " Tony answers. "Now find a camera and establish a connection. Friday will be able to get into their security system and trick the surveillance feeds."

"I'm on it," Clarice says.

"Thanks, hun. You're the best!" Harold takes the other 'hearing aid' out of his ear and tosses it to Clarice who snatches it from the air.

"Don't overdo it, _bubblebutt,_ " she quips and leaves the room.

"Whoa, if I did that I'd be dead before I finish the sentence."

"Yeah, well, I'm her favorite, can't you tell. You got the scans?" He picks up the pralines from the pillows, but after a second thought he leaves them be. It's a Hotel run by an evil fascist organization after all. It's a pity, though. A waste of perfectly fine chocolate. Fucking Hydra.

"Yup. Overground is boring, nothing interesting. Except for all the Hydra agents Wanda senses. But there's an underground facility. Of course there's an underground facility. There's always an underground facility. Would be boring otherwise…"

"Tony…"

"Yeah, sorry. Underground facility. Three floors. Elevator is located in the employee changing room on the north side of the buildings. I don't know where to find the servers, you'll have to figure it out."

"Shouldn't be that difficult. Hydra's either loyal to death or spineless and easy to crack. I'm sure Natasha won't have any problems to get the information we need."

"No, I won't. Found a camera. Establish connection now."

"Be careful. If anyone sees you-"

"Stark."

"Yeah. Sorry. I'll… shut up now."

"Do that."

Clint snickers. "What about Wanda?"

"She's still on it. She can't just force about three dozen people to leave at once. How would that look to our Hydra-friends? Wait a sec… She says she'll be done in half an hour."

"Good."

They don't want the civilians to get caught in the crossfire if shit hits the fan, so Wanda snuck into their heads and planted the idea that all of them want to go to the beach, or on a late shopping tour or anything else that brings them to leave the Hydra infested hellhole of a not too fancy but decent hotel with a pool and some greenery.

Natasha returns about five minutes later. As soon as the door is closed she reaches for the nano mask and takes it off, as well as the ash blonde wig she's wearing. Clint does the same with his disguises and both change into their combat gear. Then they wait for the go, using the time to check their equipment. Two Glocks for Natasha, accompanied by a set of knifes, some taser discs and her Widow's Bites. Clint goes with another Glock, throwing knifes and his bow and arrows, of course.

The signal comes after another twenty minutes.

"Wanda says the last civilian left the hotel. Friday manipulates the surveillance feed and we're ready to get loud and annoying whenever you need us to."

"Tony, you're always loud and annoying," Clint says.

"I totally am. You're good to go, Steve says. I'll keep you updated about thy Hydra presence. Corridors are free so far."

"Alright. Let's go then," Clint says and claps his hands. Natasha nods. They exit room 212 and make their way towards the staff's changing rooms. They dodge two Hydra agents with Tony's help. Not that they need him, but it's pretty convenient. And it makes sneaking into a Hydra base almost too easy. No fun anymore. Really. The third Hydra goon Natasha sends down unconsciousness and takes is ID card. He gets stuffed into a broom cupboard, tied up and gagged with his own tie. Natasha makes sure he won't wake up for another couple of hours. Just to be safe. They take his earpiece, too. Having access to the enemy's radio frequencies is a great thing.

They arrive at the changing rooms in no time. The secret elevator is hidden behind some lockers. The security measures, however, are no problem for the combined forces of two super spies, a genius billionaire philanthropist and his AI.

The elevator takes them to the first level of the underground base. Nothing of interest in here. A bunch of Hydra agents, quickly taken care of. The rooms contain mostly offices and some scarcely furnished bedrooms. The men and women stationed here bought pictures and posters to decorate the blank walls. They don't lift the mood, though.

Things go south when they reach the second floor.

The doors of the elevators open and reveal a group of five men and one woman, clad in civilian clothes but obviously armed to their teeth. Natasha and Clint use the first second of surprise and attack. The first men go down within seconds. The rest of them is harder to handle. And as the cherry on top, one of them is able to make contact with some other goon in the base and ask for reinforcements. Natasha jumps at him and brings him down, using the momentum to get up to her feet again in one fluent motion. He tries to get up again, but she silences him with a well-aimed kick against his temple.

"Um, I think we could use some noise and annoyance now," Clint informs Tony over radio after the last one went down.

_"Yippee!"_

Clint grins. Natasha suppresses a smirk.

"Tony just jumped out of his chair and into his suit. You guys okay down there?", Steve asks.

"Peachy."

"Well, we'll deliver the distraction then."

"You got it."

Clint watches Natasha walking over to the only guy still conscious. He's clasping is leg with the shattered kneecap and torn ligaments. Ouch.

"Hey there," she says with a sweet smile that could cut steel. "We need access to your intranet."

The patter of heavy boots on concrete announces the oncoming of more hostile agents. Clint draws his bow and puts an arrow onto the string. "Nat."

"Give me a minute."

The first Hydra goon rounding the corner gets an arrow into his face. The following men trip over him. This is when Clint activates the explosive round in the arrow's head. The detonation scatters the agents, they fall, and most of them don't get up again. The others go down with each an arrow stuck in their eyes or throats.

"Nat?"

"We can go." A pained cry follows her words, cut short by Natasha's boot yet again. That woman can literally crush you under her heels.

"Please don't tell me that we have to go all the way down to level 3."

"No. Just all the way through level 2. Level 3 is mostly storage room and a medical facility." Natasha says, already moving.

Clint huffs. "Yeah. _Storage_ room. Of course." He snatches some of his arrows - the ones still usable - from the bodies piling up in the corridor and stashes them back away in his quiver.

They run into another group of highly hostile human beings with guns and knives around the next corner, causing a five-minute delay.

"Any poor souls in that _storage_ room we have to take care of?" Clint asks when they have a moment to catch their breath.

Natasha pauses.

Clint raises an eyebrow. "You good here?"

She gives him a look. It's her very own lookTM. Well. Okay, then. He turns around and jogs back to the elevator. No more words needed.

Natasha shakes her head and allows herself a small, but fond smile. But then she's ambushed by tall and lean person and lands on the hard ground. Both struggle to get the upper hand. The Hydra agent tries to strangle her, but Natasha gets hold of one of her knives and plunges it deep into the other's neck.

She shoves the limb body away from her, retrieving her knife and gets up to her feed again. Back to business.

The facility is one of the smaller ones, in comparison to the countless others they took out over the last months. It's still a large complex with a lot of rooms and endless corridors, though. The attack outside, led by Steve, forces Hydra to split their troops. The large part of them is surface now, facing Steve and the team. Which gives Natasha room to breathe. There still enough agents to keep her occupied for a while, but she tears through the rooms and agents without mercy and eventually she reaches the server room.

A woman is typing furiously on a keyboard. Natasha shoots her leg and the woman crumbles with a pained grunt.

"It's too late, you can't stop it anymore," the woman sneers as Natasha walks up to her. Her eyes flicker to the screens. Natasha follows her gaze and goes still.

"You totally fell for this, didn't you? You walked into this trap with open eyes! And now it's too late!" The woman cackles.

Natasha reads the words on the screens. The woman is right. They walked into this, like ignorant fools. So ignorant…

"дерьмо."* 

"We will get them, and there's nothing you can do!"

She reaches for her phone and speed dials Sam's number.

"It's too late-"

Natasha shoots her other leg. She is rewarded with a pained cry, but the woman finally shuts up.

"Come on, Sam. Pick up. Pick up…"

Sam accepts the call after the second beep. She talks before he gets the chance to say anything. "Sam? Sam!"

"Yeah, Nat? Are you okay? Is everyone alright?" Good guy Sam, always concerned of their wellbeing.

"We're fine! Sam, listen! Where's the girl?"

"She's… She's alright. She's in the living room…" A pause, then: "What..."

"Sam? What's going on?"

"Oh shit! Nat, can't talk right now!"

He earpiece crackles as Tony's voice chimes in. "Uh, guys. I've lost connection with Friday! What's happening? What's going on? Did I miss something? What..."

Oh no. This is bad. Really bad.

She ignores Tony's babbling. This is far more important.

"Sam, no! Nonononononono! Stop! Listen: You've got enemy forces in the tower! It's not safe anymore!"

Sam curses. "Hydra?"

She wishes it'd be that easy!

"Yes, but Sam don't… Go get Barnes! They're after _him_! They want Barnes! You hear me? Get Barnes and get the hell out of there!"

Sam doesn't answer. _Oh goddammit Wilson, talk to me!_

"Sam! Sam, what are you…"

A muffled groan, followed by the sound of a body hitting the ground. Clatter, when the phone slides over the floor.

"Sam! _Sam_!"

No response.

Rustling. Someone picks the phone up. Silence.

"Sam?"

The call is ended. All Natasha can hear is the repeating beeps of the closed connection.

Natasha hangs up. She contacts the team instead. "The tower's security is breached. Sam is down. Steve, move your ass into the quinjet and fly back ASAP. Tony, go with him!"

"Hydra?"

"No, AIM. Of course it's Hydra, Steve!"

Steve curses loud and colorful. Nobody points it out. Not even Tony. Not now.

"Friday is down, I can't activate the legion!"

"Try to bring her back then!"

"What the fuck do you think I'm doing right now! It has to be a blacko… Oh, they sabotaged the arc reactor! Otherwise she would've had reactivated herself already! Okay, that’s bad. But also good, because the backup reactors should kick in soon!"

"Would you two just shut up and get into the fucking quinjet already! The rest of us will tidy up and follow you as soon as possible. Take Wanda with you. You'll probably need her."

Grim silence follows Natasha's words as their gravity sinks in.

"Shit."

"How did they get into the tower?" Wanda asks. She is a bit out of breath. Gunfire accompanies her voice, but it's quickly shut down, either by herself or by Tony, who arrives in this second to pick her up.

"We took them in," Natasha says gravely. Her eyes are set on the picture on the screen. A blank face stares back.

"Oh. _Ooh_."

"Someone call Maria!"

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Sweats nervously* Oops. Look at that. Another cliffhanger. Or is it? I don't even know anymore. I'll just... go back to writing chapter 12 now. Bye.
> 
> [*for my mobile readers and downloaders: "дерьмо." = "Shit."]


	12. Darkness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hugs for everyone who left a comment, a kudos or bookmarked this fic! <3
> 
> Music: [Zeromachine](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MGc7xY3DRDo) by Atra Aeterna for Bucky's part and [A Midsummer Nice Dream](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k2ffaC2z_5Q) by Ochre for the rest.
> 
> Hover mouse for instant-translation. If that doesn't work for you, you can also find the translations in the end notes.
> 
> Trigger-warnings: Mild violence (nothing graphic), brainwashing, angst.

James Buchanan 'Bucky' Barnes isn't cut for sitting around waiting and being useless while others dive headfirst into action. Especially when one of the others is a certain ninety-year-old jackass without any sense of self-preservation. But here he is, stuck in the tower because it isn't safe for him to go out again and face Hydra. He understands it. Hell he even put himself under house arrest until they can be sure that he won't snap and endanger the team - or worse: innocent people.

It still sucks, though. Because he _really_ wants to go out there and inflict severe pain to every Hydra-fuckface he can find.

He throws a last punch that almost unhinge the punching back from its hook. He knows of Steve's habit to destroy at least one punching back per week. Tony complained on more than one occaision, mostly to guilt Steve into something he wouldn't do otherwise. If Bucky went full force on them, he could do the same, but why waste energy on inanimate objects when he can spar with Steve or Thor? Preferably Thor, because he sometimes gets flashbacks - The highway. And worse: The helicarrier - when sparring with Steve. With both currently absent, the punching back has to suffice for the time being. He catches it when it swings back at him and brings it to a stop.

Time for another round through the tower.

He empties his water bottle and rubs his face with his towel, then makes his way upstairs to the common area. He checks the living room first.

The sun sets slowly, painting the clouds in vibrant pinks and oranges. The city below glistens in thousands of lights. The blinking light of a helicopter passes the window.

Sam took over one of the couches, a book in is hands. He notices Bucky at the entrance and gives him a half-shrug accompanied with a shaking head. No news then. That either means that: 1. the team is still working, 2. Communication is interrupted or 3. Hydra overwhelmed them and they're either dead or captured. The last possibility is unlikely: Friday would have informed them if the team got overpowered or terminated. And the others aren't something to worry about.

Sam returns to reading his book. He has a perfect view of the Princess and the elevators. Good.

The Princess is still playing the piano. Of course she is. It's her way to handle stress. Tony starts a new project and drinks abnormal amounts of coffee. Steve goes running or punches the living daylight out of punching bags. And of course there are people like Natasha; people with nerves of steel, unfazed by everything. Well, almost everything. Some things can disturb even ice cold minds like hers. A brainwashed Hydra-assassin hunting her down, for example.

It's still unnerving… But, yeah. Anyways.

Bucky usually cleans his guns and knives to calm his mind and uses the gym to get rid of excess energy and tension. If the Princess wants to play every piece of music known to mankind to calm her mind, let her be. To each their own. Besides, she is pretty good and has a growing variety of pieces at her disposal. Fifteen songs the last time they counted together. Tony provided her with even more printed works of Mozart, Beethoven, Chopin, etc. to learn. She learns fast.

"Sergeant Barnes, Miss Hill would like to see you," Friday informs him quietly.

"Okay. I'm on my way."

He lets his eyes glide over the scenery a last time. Everything is okay. Sam's ready. The Princess plays. Her shoulders slumped a bit. She seems to relax after all.

He turns and makes his way over to the conference room Maria uses while she stays. The door is open, he knocks nevertheless. It's polite. And he doesn't want to get shot. Maria isn't as scary as Natasha, but it's a close call. And she can and will kick your ass if you so much give her a funny look.

"Come in!"

The table is covered in paper. She has a laptop in front of her and two Stark tablets cluttered next to her.

"You wanted to see me?"

"Yeah. Have a look at this, please," she says and hands him one of the tablets. It shows the grainy black-and-white recording of a low quality security camera: A person's head in profile, long hair covering most of their face.

"What am I looking at?"

"Swipe left, there are more pictures. Friday ran some filters over them, but that's the best she could do. Clint and Natasha asked their contacts for information on the girl. This is what their people sent. It's not much. Almost nothing, actually. But I want to know what you think about it."

He looks down at the tablet again and swipes. More pictures, different angles, but their face is always obscured or blurred.

"They did a facial recognition with the photo Clint and Natasha sent them. They found nothing, but the pictures you're looking at have at least a partially match. The highest score is roughly thirty percent. The pictures show the surveillance feed of a party. One of the giant parties some super rich kid throws because they can. Well, the kid hosting this party three years ago died that night. Overdose of cocaine mixed with lidocaine, says the autopsy report. The police found a whole bunch of finger prints, most of them useless. We have a match with one of the partial fingerprints but it isn't enough for an identification."

She slides a bunch of papers towards him. He flips through the pages. The same pictures, the partial finger print in comparison with the Princess'. The partial one is too smudged to get a clear image. All of it is vague. Too vague to make any assumptions.

"As I said, it's almost nothing. But I thought… I don't know what I thought. I hoped you could see something I didn't notice."

"I'm sorry, but all of this? It's a whole bunch of nothing," Bucky says with an apologetic shrug.

Maria nods, running a hand through her hair. "It's okay. Thanks for looking, though. I'll keep trying to find something. Maybe Clint's or Natasha's contacts come up with something useful."

"Tell me if you need help."

"Thanks. Will do."

Bucky turns to leave her be, but something catches his eye. He approaches the table and reaches over to grab another printed picture.

"What is this?"

Maria looks up from her writing. "That's the fake family-portrait. The one with the hidden data. They named her Anna Johnson, but Friday couldn't find any Anna Johnson resident at the given address. There's an Anna Johnson thirty miles away, but she's a seventy-year-old lady."

"Anna Johnson…" Bucky murmurs. That name… is wrong. It makes something in his mind itch. The girl on the picture looks younger and healthier than the Princess they know. Her hair isn't cut and falls down to her shoulders. She smiles brightly into the camera. Too brightly, almost unnatural. And the smile doesn't reach her eyes. This isn't a smile. It is a grimace.

What the hell…

Anna Johnson. Anna Johnson. Anna…

The itch grows into a light headache.

There's something. Something he doesn't remember…

The taste of oatmeal on his tongue…

"James! Are you okay? Should I call Doctor Cho?"

Bucky's head snaps up. Maria stares at him, an alarmed expression on her face.

"I… what?"

"I asked if you are okay."

She points at his arm. His metal arm. He has the hand pressed against his temple, fingers digging into his scalp. Hastily, he puts is arm down.

"No. I'm okay. I'm okay. It's just… this picture, something is… bugging me."

Maria goes still. "Do you remember something?"

He shakes his head. "I'm sorry."

She sighs and stands up to look at the picture in his hands.

The next second they stand in absolute darkness.

"What the hell… Friday?"

A piercing scream is the only answer they get.

Bucky feels himself go pale. The Princess!

"Go find the Doctor, I'll get Sam and the Princess," he growls.

"Affirmative."

They leave the conference room. Bucky goes right, Maria turns left.

It's deadly silent while Bucky darts through the darkness like a shadow. He can see just fine in darkness and the city outside provides enough light for him to be able to move without any problems.

The name Anna Johnson pulses through his head with each step. Anna Johnson. Anna Johnson. Anna Johnson… Where's the mistake? What is wrong with the picture?

He rounds a corner and arrives at the living room. He stays in the shadow of the doorway, assessing the situation. Windows intact. No noticeable movements. A human body lying next to the piano, amidst of glistening shards and flowers.

Oh shit.

Another vicinity check, then he enters the room, scurrying over to the lifeless body on the ground.

It's Sam. He's alive. Pulse strong and regular. Head trauma, right temple, bleeding. No further visible wounds. Internal injuries possible.

"Sam!", he hisses and shakes his friend's shoulder carefully. Unconscious and unresponsive. Pincushion fracture unlikely, no liquor leaking out of nose or ears. He lifts Sam's eyelids. Pupils reacting. Good. Very good. Best case: Concussion with no lasting damage.

_Please let it be just a simple concussion!_

A movement behind him. He wips around and - freezes

A dark figure stands four meters away from him. Dead eyes in a blank face. A knife blinks in the city's dim light.

Speaking of the devil.

"Are you okay?"

No answer. She just stares. The taste of oatmeal becomes overwhelming.

"Princess…"

_Anna Johnson. Anna Johnson. Anna Johanson. Anna Johanson. Anna…_

Realization hits him like a wrecking ball.

"You…"

Anna-Marie Johanson. His -

Her voice cut through the darkness like a knife. "желание." Longing.

Cold dread floods his chest, turning his heart into an icy lump. He backs away, his first instinct is to flee: _Run away. Run away, bring distance to the cruel words and yourself. Don't let them find you. They can't have you. They_ can't _have you. Run._ Run _. RUN!_

"No."

"Ржaвый." Rusted.

"Stop." He moves back, away from her. She follows.

"Семнадцать." Seventeen.

_Focus. Think. Do something!_

He launches at her. She dodges easily.

"Рассвет." Daybreak.

A sharp pain drills into his head. James. His name is James Buchanan Barnes. Bucky. "Stop it. Now!" He tries to grab her, but she cuts his arm with her knife and dances out of reach.

_She's not the Princess. Not really. Not anymore. Stop her. They can't have you!_

He starts another attack. She evades his punches, staying out of reach and cuts his flesh arm when he come near her.

She is good.

Of course she is.

He changes directions and lunges to the piano. Natasha hid a gun beneath it _. Where's the gun. There is no gun. No, no, no, no, no!_

"Печь." Furnace. She watches him with empty eyes.

"No! Stop it, please!"

_James Buchanan Barnes. Bucky. He is Bucky. James Buchanan Barnes._

"Девять." Nine.

Splitting pain. Deteriorating coordination. Failing vision. He drowns in blackness. _Barnes. James Barnes. Number 32557038, Sergeant. Of the 107 th. Bucky._

"добросердечный." Benign.

Pain. Fear. _Rage_. Someone is screaming. The taste of blood on his tongue _. James Barnes. James Barnes. James Barnes. Bucky._

"возвращение на родину." Homecoming.

Cold. Dark. Silent. Cold. So cold… Fear and rage. Fear. Bucky... He is...

" Один." One.

He is cold. So cold. So cold. Silence. Darkness. Fear. 

"грузовой вагон." Freight car.

Cold. Dark. Empty. Void.

"Доброе утро, солдат."*

Silence. Cold. Absolute.

"готовы соблюдать."**

A smile. Sharp. "I have a mission for you, Soldat"

***

The asset stares into the dark. Face void of emotion while he processes his new orders. It'll take some minutes for him to regain functionality.

The Saboteur walks over to Wilson, Sam; Alias: Falcon to check his vitals. Pulse and respiratory rate normal. He is movable.

_Asset reactivated. Subroutine Geneva initiated. Next step: Contact with Hydra-agents._

She takes Wilson, Sam's phone from her pocket and dials the number engraved in her mind.

"The asset is secured. Ready for pick up."

"Roger that."

The helicopter outside ends its circling around the tower and heads toward the landing pad. She puts the phone down and waits in the dark, eyes trained on the former assassin in front of her.

The team arrives four minutes and twenty-two seconds later. Four men in black, full combat suits, night vision, each armed with a Colt M4-Carbine; P30, Heckler & Koch handgun; 3 blend grenades; A combat knife, custom made by Hydra, model Z34H; A strong sedative.

The asset's face twitches when they grab his shoulders. Nobody notices but her.

"Dr. Cho, Helen has not been obtained yet."

"Doctor Cho is a secondary. We already have that Falcon-guy. We don't need her," the team leader says.

"Doctor Cho, Helen is marked as essential for Hydra. Her seizure is imperative for mission success."

They stare at each other until he looks away. "Ten minutes."

She turns away without bothering with a response.

A muffled noise of pain follows her through the door.

She smiles.

Her mission proceeds according to plan.

_Phase III initiated._

Time to find Doctor Cho.

Hill, Maria attacks her when she passes through the kitchen.

She plays along, dancing around the well trained woman, assessing her style, dodging punches and kicks and attacks in return.

_~~Eliminate threat immediately~~. Denied. ~~Time parameters threaten to exceed, eliminate threat immediately.~~ Denied._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Good morning, soldier.  
> ** Ready to comply.
> 
> I tried. I really tried, but I had to cut the chapter for reasons. Valid reasons. Please don't hate me. 
> 
> Love, Bird <3
> 
> (If you couldn't tell already: I decided to use some elements from CA:CW for this fic. LoSoFo will stay non compliant to the story arc of Civil War, though.)
> 
> ((Anna-Marie Johanson is NOT the reader's name. Well, except your given name is indeed Anna-Marie Johanson.))


	13. Reset

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heya lovelies!
> 
> Chapter 13 for you, have fun! 
> 
> Music: [ The Winter Soldier](http://www.dailymotion.com/video/x2odjgz) by Henry Jackman. 
> 
> Trigger warnings for this chapter: Violence, Angst. Let me know if I forgot one.
> 
> (I didn't proofread, mistakes are all mine)

 

Maria Hill arrives at Doctor Cho's lab two minutes after the lights went out. She doesn't run into anyone on her way. The hallways are empty. Who knows for how long, though.

The lab seems abandoned. Medical equipment glistens in the twilight.

"Helen? It's me, Maria."

Rustling, then the doctor emerges from the shadows behind a cupboard.

"Maria! What's going on?"

"I don't know yet. Someone's in the tower, it seems. Are you okay?"

"Yes. I'm fine, thanks. I guess this someone you're speaking of isn't one of ours?"

Mara shakes her head. "Unlikely," she says and returns to the door to have a good view of the corridors. "Barnes is looking after Sam and the girl. We have to get you out of here."

"Wait a second!" The doctor hurries over to her desk and unplugs a memory stick from her laptop.

"Do you have a weapon?" Maria asks.

"I'm a doctor, not a soldier."

Wordlessly Maria hands her second gun over to the other woman. Doctor Cho makes a face, but accepts the weapon without complaints.

"The backup reactors should've started working by now. Somebody's sabotaging them. Without energy, the elevators won't work."

"If hostile forces are in the tower the staircases won't be safe for long."

Maria nods. She's searching the blueprints of the buildings in her mind for another way out, but the ring of her phone interrupts her thoughts.

She glances at the display - Natasha - and accepts the call. The phone in one and her gun in the other hand, she signals the Doctor to follow her.

"Hill here, the tower's energy is down, so is Friday. And it's most likely that we have enemy forces in here. Jump into the quinjet and fly your asses back here ASAP!"

"Steve is already on the way, Tony and Wanda too. Please tell me that you're with Barnes!"

"I'm with Helen, Barnes went after Sam and the girl."

"Dammit. Okay, Maria, listen: The girl is Hydra. She's a sleeper agent sent after Barnes. They activated her when we attacked the base! I tried to call Sam but she took him down. Maria, we can't let them take Barnes!"

Maria stops dead in her tracks. "Shit. Okay. Okay." She opens the next door and pushes the doctor into the storage room.

"Change of plans. I need your shoes."

Doctor Cho doesn't hesitate and takes off her comfortable and _flat_ shoes to change it with Maria's high heels.

"Barricade the door. Don't open it until either Friday is back online and able to guide you out of the tower or I come back. Shoot everyone else who breaks through the door." Maria orders, slipping into the other woman's shoes. They're half a size too small, but have to suffice. Oh boy is she glad she decided against the pencil skirt and for a pair of pants instead this morning.

Helen nods, her face pale but determined.

Maria turns on her heels and heads back down to the common area. The rooms she crosses are dark and empty, no signs of Hydra. Yet.

But then, a voice in the living room.

She slows down. She approaches the doorway cautiously, her gun drawn and ready to shoot, back pressed against the wall. From the shadows she glances into the living room.

Three people present: A body by the piano, unmoving: Sam. A dark figure standing upright in the room, face turned towards the third, much sturdier, person kneeling in front of them. The girl and Barnes.

Why isn't Barnes fighting back? How could she overpower him? He is an enhanced assassin with more than seventy years' worth of experience. Poison? A sedative? She didn't have something like that when the team brought her in. How could she have gotten her hands on those substances without Helen noticing?

Usually she'd prefer to get an answer to those questions first, but the how isn't important right now. All that matters is that Hydra won't get their hands on Barnes again.

Maria raises her gun and - the room vanishes in glaring light. She withdraws with a silent curse, coloured spots dance in front of her eyes when the light disappears again. She still hasn't regained her night vision when new voices enter the living room.

_That could've gone better, Maria. Another four people you now have to deal with. Fantastic._

She retreats. Back to the kitchen. She needs more weapons; Natasha put one of her guns beneath a cutlery drawer. Also: Knives. Silent and deadly. Not her preferred choice of weapon, but beggars can't be choosers. She inspects the knife block. One of the sharp blades is missing. Maria has a feeling who could've taken it.

Footsteps outside. Light. None of the soldiers then.

Sooner than expected, but that shouldn't be a problem. She glides into the shadow next to the entrance and waits. Not for long: half a minute later the young woman enters the kitchen. Maria abides for another moment until the other woman is two steps in before she attacks.

She aims for the temple; a quick and silent way to knock her out or at least to disorientate her. But before the butt of the gun connects with her skull, the girl… woman - the Not-Princess dodges the punch: She ducks and turns her upper body at the same time, grabbing Maria's wrist and twisting it so that she has to let go of the gun. It clatters on the ground and disappears in the darkness.

Maria ignores the pain and lets her boot collide with a knee. The death grip around her wrist loosens and she spins around to break the grip completely while drawing one of the kitchen knives. She has the advantage now: While the Not-Princess is able to dodge most of Maria's strikes, she is forced defend herself and just barely able to start attacks of her own. She is good though, averting the blade with small and controlled movements: A step back or to the side, a twist of her body, pushing Maria's arm into another direction.

It's like a dance.

Maria pushes the Hydra-agent along, away from the living room. She can't risk the other goons noticing their fight.

The Not-Princess fights silent. Her eyes are like dark pools, void of emotion. Her lips however show the hint of a smile; the expression doesn't change even when Maria inflicts a deep cut on her cheek. Unsettling.

The fight has to end soon. It is tiring her out, and there are another four enemy-agents she has to take care of.

Okay, time to finish this.

She starts a row of quick attacks, all aiming for either her opponents neck or chest area. When the Not-Princess grabs her arm to prevent a fatal blow which would've cut her carotid, Maria yanks her arm back, making the other woman stumble towards her. She wraps her arms around her neck and squeezes.

Of course the Not-Princess fights against her grip, struggles to get free, but Maria doesn't budge until she blacks out. Maria holds the chokehold for another five seconds, just to be sure. Only then she let the limb body glide to the ground. Still alive. Unconscious. Good enough for now. She has other problems. Four of them, to be precise. Five, if you count Barnes too.

The sound of breaking porcelain catches her attention. Someone is in the kitchen!

She jumps to her feet and hurries back, keeping herself in the shadow. A dark figure looms in the kitchen, right arm braced against the isle. The shards of the former fruit bowl are scattered over the tiles. Why aren't the backup generators working yet?

The figure shifts. Their left arm flashes silvery.

Barnes.

Maria draws her second gun - Natasha's hidden one - and steps into kitchen. "James."

His head jerks up, as well as the gun in his left hand.

Maria has barely time to duck before he shoots.

A second later someone tackles her from behind. She loses her gun - again, dammit, Maria! - and finds herself pinned down the next moment, with a knife at her throat and a hand in her hair forcing her to lie still.

The Princess! How… It's impossible for her to wake up this fast! _You should've cut her throat, Maria!_

"Soldat?"

The Not-Princess doesn't look at Maria. He eyes are fixed on Barnes.

Maria cranes her neck, wary of the blade at her throat, and glances at the former(?) assassin.

He has his gun still raised. But he is aiming at the Not-Princess now.

"Soldat, disarm and proceed with evacuation."

Barnes' expression is stony. The weapon in his hand doesn't quiver. "Denied. Protocol invalid." His voice is rough. Strained.

The Not-Princess doesn't lose her grip on Maria. A warm trickle of blood seeps down her throat where the blade broke her skin.

"Soldat, activate Homecoming-Protocol. Disarm and proceed with evacuation."

"Denied." Maria allows herself a glimmer of hope. "Back off and put the knife down."

Something flickers over the Not-Princess' face, too fast for Maria to identify. Then the hilt of the knife crashes against her temple. The world goes dark.

She regains her conscious some moments later. Her vision is blurry and black dots dance in front of her eyes. Pain pulses in her head with each movement she makes.

A pained grunt followed by the sound of a gun falling to the ground catches her attention. Ignoring the aching in her head, she rolls over and sits up slowly.

The situation is… critical:

The Not-Princess is fighting Barnes and he is barely holding himself against her. His movements are sluggish and his reactions too slow. She dodges his punches with ease and returns them with calculated stabs of her knife.

Eventually, Barnes stumbles. It is his downfall: Using this second of weakness, the Not-Princess hooks her foot around his ankle and pulls. At the same time, she shoves his chest, making him lose his balance.

Maria watches him fall in slow motion. He lands with a heavy thud and the Not-Princess is over him before she can blink, pressing the knife against his throat.

"Authorization level: Alpha, code three nine zero zero. Reset to code origin. Activate Homecoming-Protocol." Her voice seems almost gentle.

"Denied," Barnes growls. "Assume mission command. Authorization level: Alpha, passcode Geneva."

The Not-Princess freezes. "Authentication code acquired for change of mission command."

"Authentication code Winter Soldier: Zero zero one seven whiskey sierra."

"Repeat."

" Authentication code Winter Soldier: Zero zero one seven whiskey sierra. Authorization level: Alpha, passcode Geneva. Assume mission command."

Silence. Then: "Comply. Change of mission command accepted."

"Mission override. Reset mission objective."

Maria watches unbelieving as the Not-Princess lets go of Barnes and puts the knife on the kitchen island. Slowly, Barnes sits up and slumps against the isle. His face is visibly pale in the darkness.

"Mission objective reset. Waiting for new orders."

"Standby."

"Affirmative."

What the hell… Maria pushes herself back to her feet, leaning against the wall when the room starts to spin. Neither Barnes nor the girl react. Barnes has his eyes closed, brow furrowed and teeth clenched. She just stares into the darkness, her face blank.

"James."

No response.

The room finally stopped to spin. Maria walks over to the former(!) Hydra-assassin and picks up her gun from where it landed, eyes always set on the Not-Princess, wary of the situation's sudden change.

She approaches Barnes with caution, crouching down in front of him slowly and out of arms reach.

"James. James, do you hear me?"

A shard crunches beneath her sole. The next moment she has Barnes' flesh hand around her neck. The cut on her throat starts bleeding again.

"James," she manages to gulp. "James… please."

He focuses on her face. The death grip cutting her air supply loosens a bit, letting her breath again.  She supresses a cough and uses his moment of hesitance.

"You are James Buchanan Barnes, former Sergeant of the 107th. Today is the 2nd of December and it's about… five o clock in the afternoon. We are in the Avengers tower. I am Maria Hill. You know me."

He stares at her. Then, hesitantly, he releases her; she can feel his fingers ghosting over her skin before he withdraws with a sudden movement, as if she burnt him. Maria's heart breaks a little at the expression of deep fear in his eyes.

"James-"

His eyes snap back to her. He grabs her arm - not violently this time; it's more an urgent gesture - and rasps: "Sam…. Sam is…" He clenches his jaw and shakes his head. "Sam Wilson unresponsive, head injury, right temple. Immediate medical attention required!"

"Okay. Okay, James." Maria pats his hand.

"Sam," he repeats before he lets go of her and slumps back against the kitchen island.

Maria doesn't move. "What about her? What about…" She nods her head at the Not-Princess. He called her… "The Saboteur?"

"I am mission command now. The Saboteur is on standby until they receive new orders," he grits through his teeth.

"Orders from mission command?"

A curt nod. "I am mission command." His metal hand found its way back to his head, fingers digging into his skull. "Sam Wilson requires medical attention immediately. Enemy forces terminated. Area is secured."

"It's okay. I'm going to get help. What about you? Are you hurt?"

"Minor injuries. Physical functionality at 62%, decreasing due to forced intake of sedatives. Irrelevant for further mission progress."

"What mission, James?"

"Sam. Sam is… he needs…"

Maria nods. He's holding it together for now. Barely, and he needs help soon, but that's all he can give her and it's enough. It has to be.

Without another word Maria stands up and retrieves the first aid kit from beneath the sink, before she runs back to the living room. Only now she rubs her aching neck and throat. She'll have to wear a scarf to cover the bruises that will form overnight. Well, luckily it's winter.

Four armoured bodies are decorating the floor of the living room now. She ignores them and hurries to Sam. Someone put him into recovery position; he is breathing, pulse strong and regular and his head wound stopped bleeding, but he hasn't awakened yet.

Maria opens the first aid kit in search for the material needed to treat the laceration. In that moment the lights come back on. She blinks, temporarily blinded by the sudden brightness. "Friday?"

"Please wait for a moment, I'm rebooting my systems… What can I do for you, Miss Hill?"

"Check for intruders."

"I found two unauthorized men near the reserve generators, both taken into custody by Stark Security. Another four in the common rooms at your location. One in the kitchen area under Sergeant Barnes guard. A helicopter is occupying the landing pat. Both pilots show no signs of life."

He was thorough, took even care of Hydra's getaway.

"Inform Helen that it's safe now and that I need her down here. We've got injuries. And contact Stark. I need to know when they'll be back."

"The doctor is on her way. Boss says that they'll need approximately seven to eight hours. Six, if he ignores each and every law of aviation of which I advised against, but I'm sure he ignored that too. Captain Rogers requested an update of Sergeant Barnes wellbeing."

Give him the data and make him worry or don't give him the data and let him worry nontheless.

"Tell him he is alive and that we don't know about his state yet. Helen has to check on him first."

Doctor Cho enters the room. She carries a large case, probably filled with medical supplies better suited to take care of injuries than Maria's tiny first aid kit. She heads straight to Sam and starts working.

Maria steps back to give her some space and checks on the Hydra-agents. To her surprise are all four still alive. Two of them had to say goodbye to their kneecaps, another one has a dislocated shoulder and a large, nastily violet bump on his forehead. The last has read foam in the corner of her mouth. Broken ribs, at least one punctured her lungs. It's most likely that all of them are suffering from other internal injuries as well. Steve will be pleased. Fury and his interrogation specialists even more so.

"I told Friday to call the ambulance. I can't take care of all of them simultaneously," Helen informs her after some minutes, eying the cut on Maria's throat. She reaches into her bag and cleans the wound before bandaging.

Maria nods. She will call some 'friends' of hers to keep an eye on the Hydra-agents. She won't allow them to disappear without being properly questioned. Fury would rip off her head if that happened. "Sam?"

"He'll be okay. He shows no signs of brain damage, but I want to scan him to make sure he's not bleeding. They sedated him, so he'll be out for a while. Please excuse me, I have to take care of that punctured lung now."

The ambulance arrives about ten minutes later and swarms the living room. Doctor Cho entrusts them with the Hydra-agents' treatment and hurries into the kitchen to take care of Barnes. He is barely conscious, murmuring uncoherent words. But that doesn't stop him from recoiling violently when the doctor touches him. He almost breaks her arm (again. Poor Helen, Stark should really rise her hazard pay. Maria makes a mental note to remember Stark of it). They have to call Steve and put him on speaker to calm him down. Steve is able to restrain his worries long enough to talk to his friend with calm and soothing words. Together they somehow manage to bring him to his rooms, where Helen takes care of the lacerations received during his fight with the Saboteur. The wounds aren't the problem; normally he would've shrug them off and go on with his day. The drug Hydra pumped into his system takes a toll, though. And his mental state is instable, to put it lightly.

After she is finished, Helen leaves them to go back to Sam, ordering Friday to monitor Barnes' state. Maria stays for some more minutes.

Barnes eyes are half closed. He stares at the ceiling, lips moving slightly. "Children… They were just children… just children…"

Maria fights back a shudder. She doesn't want to know what memory is torturing him, but she surely wishes she could help him deal with it.

"Doctor Cho wishes me to inform you that the Princess is still waiting in the kitchen."

Oh. Yeah. She knew she forgot something. "I'll take care of her."

With a sigh she glances at her watch. At least another five hours before Stark and the others arrive.

She needs coffee. Lots of coffee.

But first the Saboteur. She needs a secure room to put her in until they know how to proceed. And someone to remove the helicopter from the landing pat. And new shoes for Helen.

Urgh. What a mess.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think!
> 
> Funfact 1: Somehow I started to picture Maria and Helen as BFFs while writing this chapter. 
> 
> Funfact 2: The song [ Run ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mw2kKyJu9gY) by AWOLNATION inspired this chapter and the whole fic in general, along with [ A Midsummer Nice Dream](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k2ffaC2z_5Q) by Ochre (featured in the last chapter).
> 
> One last thing: Uni started again, so it's possible that my updates will be irregular (hardy harr harr, as if I ever update regulary).


	14. Glitch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi and welcome to chapter 14! I hope you had a great Halloween!
> 
> This chapter contains: Some memories. A Steve/Bucky moment. A big revelation. The reader's name (finally!). 
> 
> This is the longest chapter I have written so far; eight and a half pages long. And I fought for every word. It was so hard to write! I don't know why, but I edited it four or five times and changed whole pages and I'm still not sure about the outcome. Anyways, I'm done with it and I hope you like it.
> 
> Warnings: Some angst, mentions of brainwashing and violence, some actual but mild violence and dissociaton after a flashback in the beginning.
> 
> Music: [Don't Ever Listen](https://soundcloud.com/morrmusic/soley-dont-ever-listen) by Sóley and [Muddy Waters](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ss8t7a8n0U4) by LP.

_I have a mission for you, Soldat_.

Words and emotions. Fleeting sensations and flashing images. Faces of men, women, children. People of all ages. Smiling. Laughing. Crying. Fear in their eyes.

Pain pulses with each heartbeat, drilling into his head, stabbing behind his eyes.

Voices whisper, murmur, growl. Scream. Screech. Sob.

Begs for mercy. Begs for life. Begs for death. Begs for loved people.

Broken eyes, void of light and dreams and… life.

Isegrim.

Day. Night. Day. Night. Day. Night. Day. Night. Day…

Laughter. A small figure swirling, dancing in a meadow.

Fear. Blood on the floor. On his hands. Delicate bones under soft skin. Easy to break. Don't break her.

Comply. Comply. Comply. Comply. Comply. Comply. Comply. Comply. Comply. Comply. Comply.

Denied.

Music drifting through empty rooms filled with golden sunlight. A giggle. Large eyes staring at him. Curious. Trusting. Smiling.

A gun in his hand. A knife in the dark. The target on the floor, motionless. Tears in her eyes. _I don't want to do this again._

A child sitting in front of a piano. Small. Delicate. Break her neck. Slit her throat. Comply. Comply. Comply.

Denied. Protect.

A tiny body pressed against his, arms wrapped around his waist. _Please, don't do this!_

His hand wrapped around her neck. So fragile. Snap it. Break her.

No.

Comply.

No. Denied.

Moving. Fighting. Dancing. Teaching. Don't hurt her.

Warm sunlight. A flower in his hair. A crown on hers. Joy, fondness, warmth. A smile on his face. The taste of oatmeal on the tip of his tongue.

Armed men. Screaming. Tears. Fear. Dread.

Comply. _Comply_. COMPLY!

**Protect.**

A gun in his hand, pointing at her head.

_Promise me._

Pain. So much Pain. Blood on his tongue. Screaming. Cold. So cold. Freezing emptiness.

Comply!

 ~~Protect~~ comply. ~~~~

Silence.

_Remember._

Error. Invalid Protocol. Reset to-

 

Oh god, no!

Nausea sweeps over him, making his innards lurch. The bitter taste of bile makes him retch and each movement drives hot needles into his head. He swallows multiple times to get control over the urge to empty the little contents of his stomach.

Urgh.

"Bucky." A hand lands on his shoulder.

He spins around and grabs the arm that belongs to the hand with the intent to inflict harm - no. No, to protect himself from the potential aggressor. Something blue flashes in front of him and the next moment he his pinned on the ground with his face pressed against the floor and his arm awkwardly twisted behind his back.

Okay, he's awake. He's awake now. What the fuck is happening.

A voice. Not his. The blood soaring through his ears makes it hard to understand.

"…'s sake, stop fighting me! It's okay! You're safe!"

Safe? You're holding me down, pal. You are fighting me! That's not -  Wait a moment. He knows this voice.

"Buck, it's me! It's just me, Steve! Please… stop… fighting…"

Steve. Scrawny kid with blue eyes and an attitude that will kill him sooner than his asthma. Steve. He knows Steve. Fucking punk.

But this Steve-person currently sitting on him isn't a skinny guy. He's a giant weighing a fuckton more than his Steve will ever weigh because it doesn't matter how much Bucky will earn at the docks since it is never enough to buy food and medicine and pay the rent and it will never be enough and…

"James Buchanan Barnes, stop struggling, or so god help me…"

Uh oh. That's Steve stern voice. His Captain America voice. Shit's getting serious. He's… He's Captain America. He is big now. And strong and healthy and Captain fucking America. Oh shit. It's _Steve_.

He relaxes immediately. "Steve."

"To whom am I speaking right now?"

"Wha-" The memories come crashing back down on him. Steve's question is justified. Oh god, it's justified. "Steve. 's okay. I'm me."

Steve hesitates for a moment, but releases him eventually. Bucky takes a deep breath before he sits up. The room starts spinning and the nausea returns. He fights it with another four or five, maybe eight or ten deep breaths.

"Bucky…"

"Hmm…"

"How are you feeling?"

The room spins. Needles behind his eyes. An elephant dances between his ears. Some jerk tries to turn his stomach inside out. He is cold. His mouth is as dry as the Sahara. "Peachy."

Steve I-evolved-into-a-mother-hen Rogers snorts and hands him a glass of water. Bucky empties it with two gulps. It's cool and sweet and washes the bitter taste from his tongue.

"What… what do you remember?"

Not all of it. But too much of the bad stuff: The war. The train. The fall. The Hydra-fuckers. Then more recently: His time free from Hydra. The Avenger-weirdos. And the last thing he remembers is his talk with Maria. About the girl.

The girl.

He pushes the empty glass back into Steve hands and scrambles to his feet. Steve is behind him, holding him back. "Bucky, it's okay. Everything is alright now. What do you remember?"

He remembers _her_. "Where is the girl?"

"Safely locked away in her room. Natasha is interrogating her."

Natasha's interrogating skills in all honor, but she won't get anything out of her.

Bucky squeezes his friend's shoulder. "I gotta talk to her," he says and rushes past him, only to be stopped again. But this time he swirls around, grabbing Steve's wrist, and shoves Steve against the wall, his arm pressed against Steve's throat.

"Bucky…"

"She came back, Steve. She came for me. I have to talk to her. Now." He releases him and leaves the room, heading towards the room currently assigned to their special guest.

"Buck. No. Stop!" Steve follows, a few steps behind him. "You just woke up after being brainwashed, drugged and stabbed! It's okay if you…"

"This is important, Steve."

"Then let Natasha handle it."

"No. I am the reason she is here."

"Yes, because Hydra sent her to get the Winter Soldier back. Buck, she reactivated the Winter Soldier Programming. We can't let her do this again. Please, let Natasha handle her!"

"Steve. You don't understand. She is here because of _me_."

_I promise._

They enter the living room. Wanda jumps to her feet when she notices Bucky and Steve. "You're awake, good!", she says to Bucky and then turns to Steve: "Natasha is still with her. She couldn't get a single word from her yet. And I can't get a read on her, too. She repeats a poem in her mind, over and over again. It conceals her thoughts." 

"You can't hear anything?", Steve asks unbelieving.

""Well… I can still sense her emotions. But there isn't much to feel. She is calm. Not like… relaxed calm. It's more like apathy. I could force my way into her mind for detailed information if…"

"That won't be necessary," Bucky interrupts her and starts walking again. Nervous anticipation makes his stomach twist.

A hand touches his arm. A small one. Not Steve. Wanda's sad eyes stare up to him. "You know her."

"No."

"Let me rephrase: You knew her."

Maybe. A long time ago.

Wanda lets go of him. Who knows what information she got from his thoughts, but she seems satisfied.

Steve quit trying to stop him. "Be careful," he just says when Bucky opens the door to the girl's room.

The changed the furniture for a simple table and two chairs occupied by the women. Two faces turn to him. Natasha keeps her face inexpressive, but her eyes burn with anger over the interruption.

"Barnes." Her voice is sharp. "What…"

He ignores her. "Who are you?"

The girl stares at him, face blank. A deep cut runs over the smooth skin of her cheek.

Steve's old hoodie makes her seem smaller than she is, frail even. Harmless. Yet she is everything but that. It's strange: She _is_ the Princess. Stubbly hair, pretty face with dark circles beneath her (e/c) eyes indicating troubled sleep. But at the same time she is _not_ the Princess. Not anymore. Never was, actually.

Focus, Buck.

"Identify," he repeats.

"Unit 8-C-17. Codename: Saboteur."

He shakes his head. "No. I want to know _who_ you are." Not what. Please let there be a who. Oh god, let there be a person left in her.

She opens her mouth. Closes it again. Then says: "Unit 8-C-17. Codename: Saboteur."

Cold fear claws its way through his heart. What has she become.

"Mission report," he asks through gritted teeth.

"Operation: Winterfall. Priority: Alpha. Mission objective: Retrieve the Asset. If not possible, eliminate the Asset. Secondary mission objective: Retrieve Doctor Cho and research results. Mission status: reset. Mission overwrite by mission command. New objective: Standby. Waiting for new orders."

Mission reset through impossible overwrite by an even more impossible change of mission command.

A pause. "Subroutine Geneva active."

His heart skips a beat.

Next to him Natasha tenses and leans forward.  "What is the objective of Subroutine Geneva?", she asks.

The girl's eyes flicker to him. He nods, giving her the permission to talk freely.

"Sabotage."

Natasha throws a quick, questioning glance at him.

"Sabotage of what?"

Her face remains empty, but there is something… in her eyes. "Mission Winterfall."

He needs some deep breaths before he can speak again. His heart is beating painfully fast in his chest. "Who set up Subroutine Geneva?"

She stares at him. Cold. Calculating. Her voice cuts through the silence like a sharp knife. "Воробей."

Воробей.

Oatmeal in his tongue. Flowers in his hair. Laughter.

He clears his throat. "Why did you come here?"

"Orders. Infiltrate the Avengers-tower to retrieve the Asset and capture Dr. Cho, Helen."

"No. Why did _you_ come here?"

She holds his gaze. A tiny smile cracks the mask hiding her thoughts and emotions. "Because I promised it."

Natasha and the room are suddenly far, far away. There is only _her_. Everything else is unimportant. She is still alive. After all this time. After all she had to endure… She is _alive_ and she came back to him.

"(Y/n)," he breathes. Her smile brightens.

The next moment his tiny spark of hope and joy in his heart gets crushed by a wave of grief and guilt.

She is with Hydra. Was with Hydra. For all these years. Because of him.

"Isegrim." The name pulls him back to reality. "Hilf mir. "

Her smile disappeared again, leaving her face as cold and blank as before. But her voice betrays her: She is afraid.

He turns on his heels and flees out of the room, Natasha right behind him.

Bathroom across the hallway.

He barely makes it to the toilet before his stomach empties its little contents. His heartbeat pounds in his ears and makes his head throb with each thump.

It's her. It's her. It's her. It's her. It's her. It's her. It's her. It's her.

"James."

She is alive. Alive. Alive. She is alive.

"James!"

"It's okay. I'm okay," he manages to rasp. "I'm okay."

She doesn't comment on that, but he can almost feel her skeptical glare.

He presses his brow against the cool porcelain. Slowly, the nausea subsides. After some more minutes he feels fit enough to get up again. He flushes the toilet and rinses his mouth at the sink to get rid of the sour taste on his tongue. A glance into the mirror shows a tired looking man; pale skin with an unhealthy grey undertone and dark circles under the eyes.

Natasha watches him like a hawk. "You look like shit."

"Thanks. I noticed." A splash of cold water into his face doesn't really help. But it makes him feel a little bit better. "It wasn't another code word," He answers her unspoken question.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes." Isegrim. Only one person ever called him that. And that person is currently cuffed to a table in the room across the hallway.

A knock on the door, followed by Steve's voice. "Bucky? Are you okay? "

He pushes away from the sink and leans past Natasha to open the door. "I'm fine."

Steve's eyes flit over him, checking him for any signs of injuries or distress. "You sure as hell don't look like 'fine'."

"Language, punk," Bucky grumbles and steps out of the bathroom. Natasha follows, closing the door behind her.

Steve's lips twitch. "I'm serious, Buck. How are you?"

Steve. _Steve_. "Honestly? I feel like I got run over by a truck. My head is killing me. I just puked my guts out. And in addition of being drugged, stabbed and brainwashed I just learned that a person dear to me went through years of suffering under Hydra's control because of me. And I didn't even remember her. I didn't even _remember_ her, Steve! Of course I'm not okay!"

Oops. Did he say that aloud. He didn't mean to say any of this aloud.

They stare at each other. Steve is the first to look away. "I'm sorry."

Suddenly, Bucky feels exhausted. "Don't be. I know you just want to help, and I appreciate it. But there are things you _can't_ help me with."

Steve nods slowly. "I know. But it doesn't mean you have to deal with those on your own."

"You fucking sap." He needs coffee. A shower and a fresh set of clothes. But first things first.

Natasha beats him to a heartbeat. "The team gathered in the conference room. They have questions," she informs the two super soldiers.

The team. Yeah, of course. He is part of this team now. Somehow. Some of them he even considers as friends. No. Who is he kidding. He considers all of them as friends. Even Stark the Obnoxious. He isn't alone anymore. He has Steve and the others. They helped him.

He hopes that they will help her too.

He follows Natasha and Steve to the conference room, but makes a stop in the kitchen to pour himself a coffee; black, with an extra shot of caffeine. It looks and tastes like tar. Gross, but good stuff.

He is greeted with nine expectant faces when he enters the conference room. Even Doctor Cho left her lab and joined them. Wanda nudges Barton, who fell asleep in his chair. He jerks up, mumbling a "I'm awake. I'm awake."

"Have a seat. You look like you'll faceplant any second from now," Sam says to Bucky. A bandaid adorns his temple where he got knocked down. It's good to see him up and going again. Anyhow, most of the team members are covered in cuts and bruises, even Natasha tends a split lip. Only doctor Cho seems unharmed.

Yeah, he says 'seems' because he has the blurred memory of almost breaking her arm. Again. After choking Hill. Remember to properly apologize to the two ladies later, Barnes.

Bucky does as he was told and takes a large sip of his hell brew.

"You remember her," Natasha says after some moments of uncomfortable silence.

"Yes."

"Who is she then?"

"Her name was (Y/n). But that was a long time ago. I'm not sure who she is now."

"... You were close, did I get that right?"

He forces his hands not to crush his mug. "Yes."

"Okay, I don't get it. How come you didn't recognize your murder-girlfriend when we brought her into the tower?", Tony asks incredulous.

Oh god, Stark, no. No, no, no, no, no, _ew_. That's just… wrong. So _incredibly_ wrong.

"She wasn't my _girlfriend_."

"How come _we_ didn't realize that she is Hydra?" Barton throws in.

"Her memories were hidden. But her emotions were genuine. Fear, confusion. Joy over a hot chocolate… You can't fake that."

"Well, obviously, _she_ can," Stark counters.

"Sergeant, she asked you for help." Vision's question shuts everyone effectively up.

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because of Hydra."

"What. She fucks up a mission and doesn't dare to go home? Pathetic."

"Shut up, Stark. You have no idea what you're talking about! They will destroy her if they discover what she did."

"She sabotaged her own mission," Natasha realizes. "Subroutine Geneva! Who is Воробей.? They initiated the subroutine. Surely the have an interest to keep her safe?

He rubs his face. " _She_ is  Воробей. It was her plan. She acted against her orders. I don't think she had any help." 

Silence.

"But… why would she sabotage her own mission? That doesn't make any sense!"

Bucky glances at the screen showing the girl still sitting at the table. "Because I asked her to." A long, long time ago.

 _I promise_.

"Why now? Why not tell you - us who she is? We could've helped her and that whole fiasco wouldn't have happened."

"She tried to. The missing report was a message for me. Anna Johnson."

"Who is Anna Johnson?", Tony asks, while entering the name into the search bar of his tablet.

"Not who. What. Anna-Marie Johanson. Search for the Richard Amacker case. Switzerland, Geneva. Early…"

"Found it. Richard Amacker, expert in neurochemistry. Married to Lisbeth Amacker, a successful politician. She is aiming for a seat in the government next year. They have a daughter, Johanna, 24 years old, working in neuroscience too. Followed daddy's footsteps it seems. He died in a tragic accident in his own home in blah blah blah. What is this about? Please don't tell me you pushed this poor man down the stairs."

"No, I didn't. But I trained the agent who did. Her codename for that mission was Anna-Marie Johanson."

"And…?"

"It was _her_. (Y/n) played the role of Anna-Marie Johanson!", Wanda whispers.

"But that was over ten years ago! She would've been like, what, ten years old at that time?"

"She was eleven. We met a year earlier."

Silence again. Shocked this time.

Natasha is pale. Clint squeezes her hand when nobody watches.

"I have to help her. I promised to protect her. I promised…"

Instead he betrayed her. Failed her when she needed him the most.

_ Isegrim. Hilf mir. _

"James. She reactivated the Winter Soldier. She knocked Sam out and attacked me. Are you sure she won't try again?", Maria asks.

"Absolutely."

"How can you be so sure? I'm sorry, but your theory about a hidden message in a missing report seems… a bit farfetched."

Bucky rubs his face. Why is he so tired? He just slept for at least eight hours. That's more sleep than he got in the last three nights combined.

 "She let me overwrite her mission."

"Yeah, because you had the authority to do so."

"No. I didn't. My code was old, probably deactivated years ago. And her level of authorization outranked mine, yet she decided to accept me as the new mission command. That was huge breach of protocol."

"Ah," Wanda perks up, "that is causing the glitch in her mind! Her thoughts… skip a part of her memory. Skip a part of her programming!"

"She deliberately acted against her orders," Natasha murmurs. "After years of indoctrination you can't just decide which orders to follow. The programming doesn't allow it. But she did it regardless. That is impressive. I'm not sure I could've done it." Bucky read her files: It took her years to effectively break the programming the people in the Red Room put into her head. It wasn't easy for hee to recover and start a normal life. Well, as normal as a life as a spy can get.

"She deserves a chance," she says and claps into her hand. "Let's do this."

Bucky feels the tension drop from his shoulders. _She understands_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, the translations:  
> Воробей (Vorobey): Sparrow.  
> Isegrim, hilf mir: Isegrim, help me.  
> Tell me, if I forgot one.
> 
> Thoughts? Questions? Critisism? Wanna talk about random stuff? Tell me in the comments! Or on [tumblr](https://itstousledbird.tumblr.com/)!  
> Till next time! <3


	15. Asylum

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all: I hope all of you had and still have a wonderful few days, regardless of whether you celebrate Christmas or Hanukka or anything else/none of them/all of it.
> 
> I'm so sorry for letting you wait for so long, guys! Life kicked my ass multiple times in the past months. Luckily, everything turned out relatively okay. Anyways, I wrote three complete versions of this chapter and you get to read version 3. At least it didn't take me three months like the last time. (only one and a half, lol) I post this at four am and only finished it half an hour ago, so please forgive me if it is a tad confusing or of there are any mistakes. I might read over it tomorrow to correct a thing or two. Who knows.
> 
> Music for this one: [Sparrow](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C9haTFoGcvk) by Miika Mettiainen and [Save My Soul](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UbGD5EcI3ZE) by RIVVRS.
> 
> No warnings for this one.
> 
> Translations as hover texts and in the end notes, as always! Enjoy! :)

It's snowing again. Uncounted numbers of snowflakes and ice crystals fly, swirl, dance through the cold air. Unknowing and ignorant of the world below they cover with a thick layer of cold white. Twenty-three minutes since ~~The Winter Soldier~~ ~~The Asset~~ ~~Isegrim~~ ~~Bucky~~ James Barnes and Natasha Romanoff left.

Twenty-three minutes of uncertainty.

_Mein sind die Jahre nicht, die mir die Zeit genommen,_  
_Mein sind die Jahre nicht, die etwa möchten kommen._  
_Der Augenblick ist mein, und nehm’ ich den in acht,_  
_So ist der mein, der Jahr und Ewigkeit gemacht_.

Repeat.

_Mein sind die Jahre nicht, die mir die Zeit genommen,_  
_Mein sind die Jahre nicht, die etwa möchten kommen._  
_Der Augenblick ist mein, und nehm’ ich den in acht,_  
_So ist der mein, der Jahr und Ewigkeit gemacht_.

Repeat.

Not only a poem. But a mantra. An anchor. Something to hold on in dark times.

Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.

 _Hand cuffed to the desk. Shackles made of steel. Dislocate thumb to free hand. Door unlocked but monitored, like the whole building. Chances to get to the stairway without getting caught: Insignificant. Quinjet? The AI's access to the systems must be interrupted. Would cost too much time. The vents offer an opportunity with a slightly better chance of success_.

This is ridiculous. Stop it. It's not like could go anywhere after everything I did. Hydra will be on my heels and the Avengers won't just let me go either. Too much information in my head: Valuable, dangerous. For both sides.  I'm stuck here. For better or worse.

I hope for the former. I have nowhere else to go. And I'm tired. So tired.

_~~Isegrim. Bitte. Hilf mir.~~ _

Repeat. Repeat. Repeat…

The door opens about six minutes later. ~~The Winter Soldier~~ ~~The Asset~~ ~~Isegrim~~ ~~Bucky~~ James Barnes enters.

_Mein sind die Jahre nicht, die mir die Zeit genommen,_  
_Mein sind die Jahre nicht, die etwa möchten kommen._  
_Der Augenblick ist mein, und nehm’ ich den in acht,_  
_So ist der mein, der Jahr und Ewigkeit gemacht_.

_The moment is mine. It is mine and_ only _mine. Nobody can take it away from me. Use the moment. Use every moment to shape the future._

"I request asylum," I inform him when he closes the door.

He doesn't say anything, just turns around and tosses something to me. I catch it in the air. Small. Made of metal. A key. The key. For the handcuffs.

I don't understand.

_Why would he give me the key? That's not how it works. There should be questionings. Negotiations. Exchange of information for assurances. Where is the catch._

He claims Romanoff's chair. His posture is relaxed. Unthreatening. His left hand gleams softly in the light.

I close my fingers around the key, but don't use it. Not while I don't know where I stand. I can't risk to be sent away.

He speaks up before I can ask for clarification. "How are you?"

"No major injuries to report. Minor contusions and a laceration, taken care of by qualified personnel. Neither cognition nor mobility impaired. I'm fully operational."

"That's not what I asked," he says with a tight expression.

I blink. "I am… fine."

He nods once. "I'm sorry. For not remembering you."

This short statement catches me off the guard. I frown. "The extent of damage your memory suffers from was hard to calculate without direct access to your medical information. Possible failure of visual trigger due to amnesia and time passed was included in my plans." For a second, I don't know how to proceed. "I… don't blame you."

Somehow, he doesn't seem reassured, so I add: "You remember now, don't you?"

His expression brightens a little bit. "Yes, I do." I nod. That's more than I hoped for. It's a start, something to base the negotiations on. "I remember (Y/N). But not the Saboteur. Who are you now?", he continues.

A justified question. Who am I now?

(Y/N). A name. My name. The name of the girl I've been. Once. A long time ago. But that girl is long gone. I don't know how to be her anymore. So much happened since I've been her. The Saboteur… I'm not her either. I don't _want_ to be. She is me, but I'm not her.

So, who _am_ I?

"Воробей. I am Воробей." Neither (Y/N) nor the Saboteur. But a friend. A sister. That never changed. I hope he remembers that. I want him to remember that.

He nods, his smile widens a little bit. It's almost visible now. Remarkable. He never allowed himself to show emotions open like that. He hid them well most of the time. Emotions are a debility. Hydra will sink its claws into it and do _things_ to you until there is nothing left. Only obedience. But this is a safe place. Nobody is going to hurt him. The Avengers - his allies, his _friends_ \- won't allow it. Here he can show weakness without being punished.

I'm so happy that he found this place. But:

"I need your help, Isegrim," I put the key on the table and push it towards him. "I can't go back. I _can't_ go back." I'd rather die.

He just slides the key back to me.

I stare at the tiny piece of metal. Is this a test? If it is, I have the feeling that I'm failing horribly. "I can give you intel. About Hydra. Information that hadn't been released after Project Insight," I say, pushing the key back to the middle of the table.

Suddenly, his metal hand is around my wrist. "If you just get rid of the shackle we could talk like normal people," he says and places the key on my palm.

"We are not normal people," I reply slowly. "And this isn't a normal situation."

His eyes are hard and clear. "Please open the shackle." A plea. Not an order.

I stare at him. He stares back.

Slowly, I close my fingers around the key and pull back. He lets go of me, expression still stern. I unlock the handcuff under his watchful eyes and his face dissolves into a bright… _smile_ when I put key and handcuffs on the table.

Then his expression softens, becomes serious again. "There are no conditions."

I frown. There are always conditions.

"The others already agreed to let you stay. Of course there will be questions, but nobody will ask for more than you're willing to give."

That… sounds reasonable. Not ideal, but something to start with. I nod.

His smile returns, and again I'm amazed by his open display of emotion. The last time I saw him smile like this…

"It's good to see you again." I hold my breath the second I realized what I said. _Too much? Too friendly? Too… intimate? So much time passed. So much happened. Things changed. We changed. I don't know him anymore._

"You too, Воробей. You too." His smile disappears. Melancholy creeps back into his eyes. "Why now? Why did you leave Hydra only now? You should've asked for help earlier instead of…" He doesn't finish the sentence. I know what he's asking anyways. And I know why he is asking it. I promised it after all.

"I couldn't. Most of the world's intelligence services were - and still are - compromised. I had nowhere safe to go. They would've found me everywhere and put me into reconditioning. I couldn't risk that. ." And they still had him. They were using him. I wouldn't have left him behind. I couldn't. I promised. "But I kept an eye on you. It took me some time to find you again after… we got separated." About two years. And I only found him by accident: I overheard two agents talking about the Asset being deployed in the Middle East. After that I kept track of him. I know of every mission they sent him on. "I was able to keep Hydra off your back after Project Insight, but lost you after you left the States. It was only when Hydra got word that Steve Rogers found you in Romania I got to know about your whereabouts again."

He lowers his head. Runs a hand through his hair. It's still long. Roughly the same length as the day we got separated. Better kept, tough. Hydra never cut it back. I wonder why. Long hair is inconvenient in battle. Something an enemy can get a grip on. And it impairs your sight. Did Hydra ever supply him with hair ties?

A sigh. "Thank you. For… everything."

"I promised it."

"Yes. You did." He smiles. And it isn't a sad smile. "And I'm glad you're here, Воробей."

I am too.

"You changed," I say after a moment of silence.

"Is that bad?"

"No. You smile."

He hums. "You changed too. You're not the kid I used to know anymore."

"No. I suppose I'm not."

"You don't smile anymore."

Oh. "I'm sorry."

He shakes his head. His smile is still there, but became a touch sadder.

A knock draws my attention to the door. A moment later Natasha Romanoff's head appears in the gap between door and wall. "It's all set," she informs Barnes. Then she looks at me. Her face gives nothing away, but her eyes are not unkind. "There are clean clothes in the bathroom for you to change." She flashes a grin and disappears again.

I focus back on Barnes. His expression is serious now, but he shows no sign of distress.

"What did she mean?"

"Informal mission debriefing." He stands up. "Come, we shouldn't let them wait."

_Informal mission debriefing?_

I shake my head and get up to follow him. He waits outside for me to change. I use the opportunity to take care of my bodily needs and wash my face with cold water from the sink. A short inspection in the mirror reveals nothing I haven't already suspected; the cut on my cheek is the most prominent vestige of yesterday. The neatly folded bundle of clothes left on the drawer contains pants, a shirt, underwear and a pair of socks. Three minutes later I join Barnes in the hallway again. 

He guides me through familiar hallways. I walked them often during the last weeks. In the time as the Princess. I remember all of it. Of course I do. It was me. Not all of me, but still me. I was the Princess.

Soon we arrive at the living room where the team already gathered around the sitting area. He heads straight towards them and sits down on one of the couches, gesturing me to take the place next to him. I follow him, reluctant, but when nobody contradicts I claim the seat.

Silence settles over the group. I search for hostility or aversion in their faces, but there's nothing like that. Curiosity, anticipation and caution, though. Fatigue in some of them. Stark should develop a normal sleeping cycle. Curious eyes flit over me, making me wish I hadn't left my hoodie back in the bathroom.

""Unit 8-C-17 seems a bit impersonal. Is it okay if we call you (Y/N)?", Sam asks after a moment.

I look at him. The white band aid on his temple is a stark contrast to his dark skin. I'm glad he recovered so quick from the attack.

_Sam. Good guy Sam. Why is he so still nice?_

"This name hasn't been used in over ten years," I inform him. "I'm not used to it anymore."

"What did your handlers call you?", Romanoff asks. She sits next to Barton with her back against the armrest and her feet on his lap.

"I've been called a lot of terms, titles and names. But most of the time they went with Saboteur."

His grin falters only for a second. "Well, then it's time to call you by your actual name again, don't you think?"

"If you say so."

He nods. "(Y/N) it is then. Hi (Y/N), I am Sam. And this," he gestures at the others, "are Clint, Natasha, Maria, Steve, Tony, Helen, Wanda and Vision. You already know Barnes, right? It's nice to get to know you."

_Why is he doing this? I already know who everyone is. I've spend… Oh. Oh, okay. I'm not the Princess anymore. A stranger. An unknown quantity. Reintroducing to regain familiarity. A new start._

"Thanks for not killing me, by the way. I appreciate it," he adds.

"You… are welcome."

"So. You and Sergeant Bucksickle were pals once. Is this the reason they sent you after him?" Stark claimed one of the armchairs. He has a glass of Scotch in his hand.

"No. The people in charge of Operation Winterfall didn't know about my past with the Asset," I tell him.

"Then how come they chose you for this mission?"

"It took months of subtle manipulation and nondescript sabotage until they decided to send the Saboteur."

My explanation triggers general amusement. Stark splutters into his glass, Clint and Natasha snicker. Even Barnes grins next to me.

"Can you tell us more about Operation Winterfall?", Maria Hill asks when the chuckles died down.

"Planning started right after Hydra got to information that Rogers moved the Winter Soldier into the Avengers-tower. They still consider him a valuable asset, but he became also a liability after Project Insight. Purpose of Winterfall was to either bring him back or, if not possible, eliminate him. I didn't want either to happen, so I… volunteered."

"What about your memory loss? Did they… wipe you, too?", Rogers asks with a tight expression. Next to me, Barnes shifts.

I shake my head. "No."

Barton leans forward, resting his chin on Romanoff's knees. "Then how did they create the Princess? How did they erase your memories completely but not permanently?"

"Hypnosis."

"What was the trigger that reactivated you?" This question comes from Stark.

"Visual stimuli. A code consisting of light and or colors. Hydra's helicopter circling the tower wasn't solely for surveillance, but also provided the code when Hydra initiated Winterfall."

"Is it possible that there is something else hidden in your mind? Another lightshow and you'll start trying to kill us again?"

"Possible, yes. But unlikely. They didn't mess with my mind more than necessary. The Saboteur needs full access to my memories to be fully operational and efficient."

"Unlike the Winter Soldier," Natasha muses.

"Yes. The Assets skills were based on kinesthetic memories. The missions Hydra sent him on didn't require complex knowledge of society and human interaction. They provided him with every information needed before each mission. Short term memory was sufficient. The Saboteur's work is subtler. Missions could last for weeks or months and demand knowledge of social interaction and norms."

"Like the Santoro-case?" Hill hands me a Stark-pad. She's wearing a scarf.

_Marco Santoro. Deceased in 2009. Cause of death: Drug poisoning; cocaine mixed with lidocaine._

"Yes. I was there." His death was a shame. He was a nice boy. Ambitious. Optimistic. And so naïve. Wanted to make the world a better place. Unlike his father.

"Did you kill him?"

"No. My mission was to hack his father's private laptop and extract vital information for Hydra. Marco Santoro's death was an accident. He'd never done drugs before. His girlfriend brought the cocaine and made him try it."

I look up and am greeted with skeptical expressions.

"The data I extracted was part of the information agent Romanoff released during the Triskelion-Incident. A collection of files containing information about Signore Antonio Santoro's transactions. Mainly human trafficking and arms trade," I tell them, putting the tablet down on the coffee table. "Hydra wanted to recruit him."

"Did they succeed?"

"Yes. Hydra makes a lot of money with Santoro's connections. Santoro can't enjoy his wealth anymore, though. They got rid of him after the data leakage. He became a liability."

"Did you kill _him_?"

"I was on a mission in Japan when he died."

Once again, silence falls over the group. Everyone contemplates over the information I revealed.

"You seem pretty comfortable with exposing all those secrets," Stark says after a while. He was typing on his Stark pad some minutes ago, probably searching for information about Santoro.

"My loyalty doesn't belong to Hydra." It never did.

It looks like he wants to ask another question, but the Friday interrupts him. "Boss, your order has been delivered."

Oddly enough, it's Barton who jumps to his feet with a "Hell yes!" on his lips. The others chuckle. Steve unfolds himself and follows him.

Wanda is the next to speak up. "(Y/N), tell me about the poem."

(Y/N). It's strange to be addressed with this name. "Which poem?"

"The one you constantly recite in your thoughts."

She is a telepath. Of course she knows about it. Why am I even surprised?

"Betrachtung der Zeit by Andreas Gryphius. It's a German poem, but roughly translated it says:

Mine are not the years time took from me,  
Mine are not the years that may come.  
The moment is mine, and if I take heed,  
Thus it is mine that made year and eternity."

She nods, a pensive look on her face that is mirrored by most of the others. "I can't get a read on you when you're doing this. This a first. Nobody else could hide their thoughts from like this before. How are you doing this?"

"I… don't know?"

"Maybe some sort of passive telepathic talent," Vision says thoughtfully.

"Any other hidden talents besides being able to block Wanda?"

"Eidetic memory."

Stark whistles. "Not bad."

"If you say so."

"Pretty useful. No wonder Hydra didn't want to risk tinkering with your mind."

I look him straight into the eyes. "It _is_ pretty useful. I have years worth of information about Hydra and their affiliates."

Romanoff sits up and rests her arms on her knees. "And what do you intend to do with all your knowledge?"

I smile. "Destroy Hydra."

"Good." She smiles back.

A moment later, Barton and Rogers emerge from the elevators, arms full with flat cartons. Suddenly the air is filled with the scent of… pizza?

"Finally! I'm starving!", Wilson cries out in relief. The group busts into activity. Sam and Wanda disappear into the kitchen, only to return a minute later with plates and knifes, while everyone else makes space for everyone to sit around the coffee table. Stark and Vision bring additional chairs from the dining room. Which brings me to the question: Why aren't they going to use the dining room? There should be enough space for everyone.

I ask Barnes.

"It's more fun this way," he answers.

"I think I now understand why you called it an _informal_ debriefing," I tell him.

He snorts. "You'll get used to it."

Five minutes later everyone is settled around the coffee table. Wanda opens the first carton while Stark and Barton make grabby hands.

Sam hands me a plate. "What do you want, (Y/N)? We have margarita, pepperoni, a hawaii…  Do you like anchovies?"

I stare at him. "I don't have a preference."

The room goes silent.

"Excuse me?" Stark asks. He almost sounds offended.

"Everyone has a pizza preference," Barton adds. "Even Barnes had one when Steve found him!"

I see Romanoff roll her eyes. The next moment I understand her. Both men start a passionate lecture about pizza. Sam chimes in at some time, Steve too. After ten minutes, they're still not done and the lecture turned into a heated argument over which pizza is the best and where to find the best pizza baker. I listen closely, eating the slice of pizza ~~Isegrim~~ Barnes put on my plate.

At some time Maria Hill pulls her chair over and sits down next to me. "There's one thing I don't get. Why did you let Hydra into the tower? You could have saved us a lot of trouble if just didn't tell them."

Again, the room becomes silent.

I put my plate down. "They would've had come nonetheless. But with reinforcements. So there were only six of them to deal with."

"And why didn't you put them out when they entered the tower? Why did you carry on with the mission?"

 "They reactivated me only four minutes prior. I couldn't act against my orders in the first couple of minutes. I needed time to sort my mind and overcome the programming. But then I used the time to make sure Sam Wilson wouldn't be a target for the agents."

"By giving me a bad headache?"

"They were ordered to eliminate everyone who'd be a threat for the mission. I persuaded the agents to take you along for interrogation instead of simply killing you off. You being unconscious saved your life. I'm sorry. I wouldn't have done this if there had been another way."

"Well then. Thanks again. For not killing me _and_ saving my life, I guess?", he says with a lopsided grin.

I nod. "You are welcome."

"Is this why you didn't use your knife against me?", Hill asks.

"Yes. You are part of the team keeping Ise - Barnes safe. Harming you would impair your ability to protect him. That would be breech of protocol. Do not compromise mission objective."

_Subroutine: Bruderherz. Objective: Protect at all cost.  
_

_I promised it._

All eyes are set on me now. Nobody makes a sound.

_What. What is wrong. Did I do something? What did I do?_

I turn my head to look at ~~Iseg~~ Barnes. "Did I say something wrong?"

He blinks. "No. No, you didn't. Everything is fine."

Hill clears her throat. "Erm. Thank you, then. For not killing me either."

"You are welcome, too."

The next few minutes pass in silence, until Stark and Barton start their pizza argument again. Sam and Rogers engage in a discussion and soon Romanoff joins them. Hill and Doctor Cho start their own conversation, as well as Vision and Wanda.

 ~~Isegr~~ Barnes and I sit in silence. But it isn't a bad silence. It feels good, actually: Sitting next to Isegrim, listening to all those people and eating pizza.

I'm really glad they accepted my request.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poem: 'Betrachtung der Zeit' ('Contemplation of Time') by Andreas Gryphius (1616-1664). My translation doesn't live up to the original. There is probably a better one out there, but I couldn't find any, so I made this on my own.
> 
> Isegrim. Bitte. Hilf mir.: Isegrim. Please. Help me.  
> воробей: Sparrow  
> Bruderherz: Brother dearest, beloved brother  
> Did I forget one?
> 
> I'm curious: Can anyone guess why the reader calls Bucky Isegrim? What is so special about the name?
> 
> See you guys next year! :D


	16. Memory I: J. B. Barnes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout out to the amazing [Judgement](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Judgement/pseuds/Judgement) for helping me with this chapter! 
> 
> Warnings: None, I think? Tell me if you think otherwise!
> 
> Music: [Devil's Playground](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TZ4gbXRHXNY) by The Rigs, [ Tag, you're it](http://www.songtexte.com/songtext/melanie-martinez/tag-youre-it-37a2ddb.html) by Melanie Martinez (recommended by Judgement!)
> 
> Enjoy!

 

The waking process was always slow and painful.

Millions of tiny needles prickled in his veins, his muscles burned and ached and every breath felt like fire in his lungs. Violent shivers and muscle spasms made his teeth rattle. Every noise was unbearably loud.

The cold faded only slowly. It never truly disappeared, already settled too deep in his bones.

After the cold came the nausea and splitting headache and suddenly everything was too hot. The scientists put an IV in the crook of his arm. Warm fluids made his insides thaw, supplied him with fluids and nutrients; he wouldn't get solid food for the rest of the day.

He had the vague feeling that this time was different than before, less hectic maybe. But his thoughts and memories were still mush, so he couldn't tell for sure.

Scientists scurried around him, checking his vitals, reflexes and brain function. A dozen tests and about eight hours later they gave him clothes. Fatigues. No combat gear or weapons yet, either. He would get equipped after the mission briefing.

The clothes didn't help with the cold in his bones. Nothing ever did.

A man came into the sparse room, the red book in his hand, and recited the words that make his mind go blank. They didn't wipe him, he remembers now. God knows why. The man gave him his orders. Mission objective: Escort, observe, comply. For now.

He complied, of course, following the man out of the room, surrounded by four additional guards. Standard protocol.

This was not an underground facility. The walls were made of stone, plastered with white paint. There were windows in the wall, letting bright sunlight flood the corridors in regular intervals. The floor was made of stone. Old stone, worn down by many feet, every step the guards and his handler made echoed in the narrow hallway. Careless. The Asset moved silent, like the ghost he was.

There were other noises, too. Soft, almost inaudible, but growing stronger with each step: Voices. Male and mainly female. Children, gender indefinable. Feet on the floor, hurrying. Music, pianos, violins, singing. Chanting. The sounds of fighting. Flesh meeting flesh, falling bodies, pained grunts. But all wrong. The bodies too light, the voices too high. Not men, then. Not even women. Who is fighting?

The smell of food reached his nose. His stomach churned and turned into a tight knot; his nausea was still there and the thought of food made it worse.

They arrived at a wooden door His handler opened it and the Asset followed him into a great entrance hall. Large windows flanked the old, wooden entrance gate. An impressive chandelier hung from the high ceiling. Expensive looking paintings decorated the walls, showing people, landscapes and still lifes.

A woman was waiting at the foot of the stairs. She was tall and slim, roughly in her mid-forties. She had tamed her long, blonde hair in a tight bun. Most people would call her face aesthetically pleasing, the Asset thought detached. He didn't really care. She carried herself like a ballerina when she approached them.

"Victor," she greeted his handler in fluent Russian. Her smile was wide and could've passed as genuine. But the Asset wasn't fooled. This woman was dangerous. "Everything is set. We have our most promising candidates gathered in the gym. We can start whenever you're ready." Her eyes flitted over the Asset's body, taking every detail in, doing the same the Asset did with her. "This is him? It's a pleasure to finally meet you, I heard only good things about you and your work," she told the Asset.

He didn't answer and kept his face blank. The Asset wasn't there to make conversation. She didn't wait for his reply. Why would she?

She turned around and ascended the stairs, talking to his handler without looking back, knowing that the men would follow her. The Asset didn't listen; her explanations weren't meant for him. But he observed her. Her movements were graceful and controlled, without superfluous gestures. He knew: She didn't need the hidden knife strapped on her thigh to kill. Not even the pen in her breast pocket. No. She could kill with a single manicured finger.

She guided them through a long hallway. Music drifted through an open door. The Asset caught a glimpse of a small figure sitting in front of a piano, fingers running over the keys. The tall frame of a woman loomed next to the music instrument. Watchful eyes trained on their student.

A dissonance. Silence. "Again, from twenty-four." The music started again. The notes faded with each step they make away from the room.

Soon they arrived at another wooden door, not far from where the Asset woke up earlier. He had memorized the way they walked. Always be aware of your surroundings. Always know where you are. It'll save your life.

_It is imperative to stay alive; death would interfere with mission objective. Do not die._

The room they entered was a gym, well equipped with state of the art equipment and in a pristine condition. None of the equipment was used, though the room wasn't empty: Two adults - a male and a female - guarded a group of twelve children.

The man stepped forward to greet them. Courtesies were exchanged, introductions made: Karl Beck and Paula Gobin, the people watching over the children, threat level, low. Viktor Petuchow, his handler. And Madame Josephine, the woman who brought them here, threat level high. The guards stay nameless.

Listening with one ear, the Asset let his gaze wander over the children. Six boys, six girls. All of them were dressed in the same outfit: White shirt, blue pants, no shoes. Each had a code of numbers and letters embroided on the chests of their shirts. All the girls shared the same hairstyle. Hair parted down the midline of their head and pulled into two separate French braids.

None of the children returned his gaze. They tried to keep their expressions blank and their eyes set forward.

The Asset shifted his weight from one foot to another. He had the vague impression that children weren't meant to be like… this. Echoes of laughter, screaming, screeching, giggling flashed in his mind.  These echoes shouldn't exist. Indications for lack of maintenance. He should report to the chief technician, immediately.

A movement caught his attention. It had been small, and nobody else had noticed. One of the girls was staring at him. It was the flicker of her eyes, the slight tilt of her head that had alerted him. His eyes met (e/c) ones. She didn't shy away from his gaze. On the contrary, she set her jaw and stared at him, defiance in her eyes, while her face betrayed nothing of her thoughts or feelings.

Another impression flashed through the Asset's head, but this time he couldn't hold on to it.

The conversation next to him changed the topic; introductions were over, now everyone got back to business. He zoned back in and listened, keeping the girl in his line of sight. He didn't know why, though, she wasn't a threat. Not to him, at least.

"These are the candidates we choose taking your wishes into consideration. I think you will be satisfied with their performances," Madame Josefine explained. "We can start the selection process whenever you want."

The children's eyes flitted from adult to adult, their shoulders tense with nervousness. Not the girl though. She was still staring at him, her tight jaw the only sign of emotion. He shifted again.

“We have no time to lose,” his handler replied. “We should start now.”

Josefine nodded. “Then let’s begin.” She stepped forward to address the two teachers. “You know the procedure. This round’s group drop out will be evaluated and reintegrated into our standard program if possible.”

Five minutes later six pairs of two kids were scattered around the gym, waiting for new orders.

“Observe and assess. I want eight candidates at the end of the day,” his handler told him.

A curt command, and the children began… to spar. Small hands grabbed fabric, fists met flesh, arms dodged punches. Frail bodies fell to the ground, jumped to their feet again only to be greeted with another kick or hit.

The Asset observed, studied their techniques and tactics, the execution of their movements. After some minutes he reevaluated their threat-levels; from low to… not quite medium, but close to it. Their abilities were advanced considering their young age, but not enough to pose threat to him. They had so much to learn.

He memorized the codes of the most promising candidates while observing them. Then his eyes fell on the girl who stared at him. She was struggling against her opponent; a boy about half a head larger than her. He threw punches at her, rapidly, leaving her no opening for a counter attack. Or at least in her eyes, the Asset knew of at least five ways to break through the boy’s attacks and take him out in under a minute. Well, most of them included the use of his metal arm, which the girl lacked. But even without…

The boy landed a punch against her temple, sending her down like a puppet with her strings cut. The Asset glanced at the boy’s number to memorize it, when the girl suddenly jumped to her feet again, fists raised and a grim expression on her face.

Something in the Asset’s brain short circuited. The world tilted and he must’ve lost a second, because the next thing he saw was the girl having the boy in a chokehold. The boy tried to fight back, but couldn’t get a grip on her. After a minute, the boy had to give up and tapped on the ground.

The girl released him and immediately jumped to her feet. She turned her head and stared at the Asset, defiance and triumph in her eyes. Her split lip twitched once.

 _I could do this all day_. An echo in his head. What. He couldn’t remember. He. He should tell the technician. The Asset was in need of recalibration.

Instead, he memorized her number - 8-C-17 - and turned left to avoid her intense stare. She... Made his head hurt.

After ten more minutes, a shrill whistle ended the exercise. The Asset delivered the code’s of the candidates he deemed suitable to his handler, who agreed with his assessment. The four children sorted out left the room with the one named Beck.

The remaining children, still standing in a straight line -some with bruises, some with small cuts - were silently waiting or new orders. Their expressions had turned back to blank facades, hiding their fear and thoughts well. But the Asset saw right through them. The nervous shift of weight, the flicker of their eyes, another chewed on his lips.

Madame Josefine stepped in front of the group after Beck closed the door behind him. “You have been selected to represent our great institution. You’re performances were acceptable, but I expect you to do better in the coming trials. Only one of you will be accepted as our costumer’s new protegee, while the others will be sent to their other facilities to join their own standard training procedures,” Her voice is cold, clipped, sharp eyes staring down at the children who answered in unison: “Ja, Madame Josefine:”

“You are dismissed. Return to your classes.”

The kids silently obeyed.

“You have your candidates, Viktor. I ensure you will find one that meets your requirements. As soon as the transactions are made you are free to handle the dropout as you wish. Come, let’s talk about phase 3. We have still so much to discuss.”

His handler nodded. “Bring him back and give him the details of his assignment,” he told the guards. Then he offered Josefine his arm and together they left the gym.

One of the guards poked the Asset’s ribs with the barrel of his rifle. “Come on, dipshit. We have orders.”

The Asset turned around to follow his guards, but not without reading the guard’s name tag and memorizing his name (Stevenson), rank and service number. Who knew, maybe it would come in handy at some point.

The hallways were still empty and the room with the piano was now abandoned. Silence filled the corridors; the muted chatter, music - _noises_ \- had subsided. A glance at the guard’s wrist watch told the Asset that it was lunchtime.

The both men flanking him didn’t seem to like the silence. Soon the first spoke up: “This place creeps me out.”

“What? Why?” Stevenson asked. This guy obviously wasn’t one of the brightest members of mankind.

“They train kids to kill people. They could kill us, literally! I’ve seen some fucked up shit in my life, but children who are better with knives than me? What the fuck man.” Even if he was a paranoid coward, he was probably right. After what he had seen in the gym… Those children were anything but harmless.

“Everyone is better with knives than you, Boris.” The Asset providently saved this information.

“That’s not the point, asshat.”

The Asset considered to unburden Boris from one of his knives, just to see if he would have noticed it (and if Stevenson was right, he wouldn’t need it anyways. The Asset would probably prevent him from chopping off his own fingers.), but he knew that guards were usually and constantly wary around him and not above reporting him to their superiors. And their snitching usually resulted in punishment. Punishment meant pain. And worse. That’s why the knife-theft happened only in the Asset’s imagination. He inwardly grinned at the thought of Boris’ face when he realized that his knife had gone missing, though.

Soft footsteps ahead. The Asset slowed down a bit, letting the guards walking a step ahead of him. A heartbeat later a small figure rounded a corner and ran directly into Stevenson. The guard grabbed their arm while Boris pointed his rifle at them.

It was a boy, about thirteen years old. He stared at Stevenson, eyes wide and frightened.

The Asset watched the scene unfold. Both, Stevenson and Boris didn’t seem to know how to react. The boy wasn’t a member of Hydra and Hydra were only guests in this institution. Eventually, Stevenson let go of the boy, who apologized multiple times before he scurried off. The Asset was pretty sure that the boy didn’t carry a knife. He could’ve used the pencil in the breast pocket of his jacket though. A well aimed stab into the eye, with the right angle....

“You know what they will do with the kids who fail the trials, don’t you?” Boris asked after five minutes. They reached the door guiding to the room the Asset had woken up in. Stevenson hesitated, a hand on the doorknob. “Yeah. Would be kinder just to kill them, if you ask me.”

The Asset would agree with Stevenson, after he learned about Hydra’s plans.

Bucky doubts that those kids survived long after the trials. No: He _hopes_ that they didn’t survive long.

He takes a large sip from his drink and lets his gaze wander to Stark and Barton, who dragged (Y/N) to the bar where they introduced her to a variety of food. They  made it their priority to teach her the fine art of food after she explained that she has no food preferences at all. Their expressions would have been hilarious and Bucky might have laughed his ass off if weren't so sad. She never had the chance to develop a preference. Food had been a matter of survival; not something to enjoy, but a necessity. Having a favorite meal is a foreign concept to her.

Both men never shied away from a challenge, though. Therefore, Barton pulled her to the bar while Stark disappeared in the kitchen only to come back with his arms full of food. They are adamant to introduce her to every food possible, wanting to assist her in finding something to _really enjoy_. She didn't understand what they want to tell her yet, but she tries. She tries though. Maybe too much.

Bucky sighs and rubs his face. His memories are still blurred and incomplete, but he _remembers_ her. She had been a scrawny kid back then. And now she is a grown woman, hardened and guarded. He can still see the child in her, hidden beneath layers of experience, wariness and mistrust.

"So, what's your story, Buck?" Steve asks, claiming the seat next to him. Bucky watches him settle onto the couch, not knowing what to answer.

"What story?" he asks lamely. He knows exactly what Steve's talking about.

For a minute, Bucky stares at nothing. Steve waits, the patient saint he is. Eventually, Bucky breaks the silence:

“She was part of a group of kids Hydra bought from that organization. Hydra wanted another weapon. I met her during the trials. They wanted me to train the kids and I… made sure she would survive them.”

Steve nods slowly. Bucky can see the horror in his friend’s eyes. “A bunch of kids. Why her? What was so special about her?”

Another memory flashes through his mind. A scrawny girl with fire in her eyes, a cut on her brow. Fists raised and knuckles bruised, she glared at her larger opponent.

He hadn’t realized it then, not for a long time, but: “She reminded me of you.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tell me what you think! Peace out!
> 
> (If you find any shifts in the tenses, please let me know. I'm not used to write in past tenses anymore, lol)


	17. Christmas Shopping

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiiiiii guuuuuys! It's been a while I knooow! Personal stuff last year was shit bla bla BUT I AM BACK FROM THE DEAD \o/ 
> 
> For all the subscribers and bookmarkers: THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR STICKING WITH ME!  
> And for new readers: Welcome to this clusterfuck! I hope you like it!
> 
> Warnings: Minor (emotional) Angst.
> 
> Song for this one: [Lean On](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DzrLPgAb7BY) by Emma Heesters.
> 
> Hope you like it! \o/
> 
> (translations as mousover or if that doesn't work you can find them in the end notes)

I see the hit coming, but too late, and I’m too slow to dodge. His fist lands in my face and sends me down.

 _Too slow too slow not acceptable_ not _acceptable out of shape can’t allow that not acceptable get up get up!_

It stings and I taste copper on my tongue, but I had worse and a moment later I’m on my feet again, ready to continue. But (Isegrim) Barnes lowers his fists and makes a step backwards. “Time for a break,” he says.

I am confused. Why did he stop. “I can continue.”

A strange expression flits over his face but it’s too fast gone for me to decipher it.

“I know,” he says,” but I need a break.”

I don’t believe him but stay silent when he leaves the mat to fetch a bottle of water. He body is relaxed, no sign of anger, but his mouth is tight. Not sure what to do.

I stay where I am and start stretching.

_Decrease of physical efficiency anticipated. Still frustrating, though. Not being at full capacity means not being able to provide needed protection for (Isegrim) Barnes. And myself. Relying on a third party… suboptimal._

I joined the training sessions about two weeks ago. Not nearly enough time to get back to 100%. It’ll need time to regain full functionality. I have no time to waste, though.

_No time, no time. Act fast or you could lose advantage. Suboptimal parameters, but doable._

I close my eyes to recall the schematics of a building.

_At least two guards at the entrance. Camera surveillance to be taken care of to move freely..._

“You are good.”

A new voice pulls me out of my thoughts. Romanoff appeared behind me without a sound. I tense.

_Shouldn’t have let my guard down. Embarrassing. Always keep your eyes and ears open. Never let your guard down. Never._

“Yes,” I say. I am good. Not at the peak of my potential at the moment. But yes, I am good.  

“I saw the recordings. You had no problem holding yourself against Barnes and Hill.”

Barnes (Isegrim) was drugged. Incapacitated with trigger words. Decreased speed in movement and reaction. And I had no intent of hurting either Barnes nor Hill.

She gives a nod towards Steve who sat down next to Sam who is sprawled on the ground. “Tell me how you would attempt to take him out.”

I squint at her.

_Take out Rogers. Steven Grant Rogers. Why would she want me to take out Captain America. What. Why why why. Childhood friend of Barnes’ (Isegrim). Attack would lead to emotional distress. Emotional hurt. Why would I want to hurt Barnes. Attack would result in expulsion. Hydra can’t have me. They mustn't get me again._

She raises a hand. “Don’t worry. I’m just curious what they taught you.”

Respiratory frequenz decreases again. Slowly.

I continue to squint as I give her an answer: “Steven Grant Rogers aka Captain America: Don’t engage in close combat. Exposed legs are weak points. Shoot to incapacitate and/or slow down movement. Put bullet into head. Preferable with high caliber sniper rifle from safe distance.”

She nods. “What about Sam?”

I don’t want to hurt Sam. “Samuel Thomas "Sam" Wilson aka the Falcon: Take out wings and drone first. Shoot from distance or engage in close combat. Poison if subtility is required.”

She asks about the others, including herself.

I tell her:

“Natalia Alianovna Romanov aka Natasha Romanoff aka the Black Widow: Don’t engage in close combat. Use high caliber sniper rifle. Consider radioactive poisoning if elimination isn’t required immediately.

Clinton ‘Clint’ Francis Barton aka Hawkeye: Best chance in close combat. Approach with caution. Don’t let him spot you from far away. Consider poisoning his coffee and/or pizza. Death certain even with small doses of poison since coffee and pizza intake is extensive.

Anthony Edward ‘Tony’ Stark aka Ironman: In Ironman-Suit: Best chance for success: catch him outside the suit. Stab him, break his neck, whatever works best regarding the situation. If inside the suit: Destroy arc- reactor and or overload systems to take out suit.

The Vision: Do not engage. Not enough data on metabolism and physis.

Wanda Maximoff aka the Scarlet Witch: Mind reading abilities prevent from engaging in close combat. Use high caliber sniper rifle from safe distance. If engaged in close combat use high frequency noise to stun.

Thor: Not enough data on metabolism and physis.Do not engage if possible.

Bruce Banner aka the Hulk: Do not engage.”

I can see a smile in her eyes. She has fun doing this. But then her face goes blank again and she asks: “What about Barnes?”

“Protect.” I glance at him. He isn’t looking at us, but he is listening. His back muscles are tense now.

“I don’t ask you to attack him.” Romanoff’s voice is… weirdly kind.

“I understood your question. Answer remains the same: Protect.”

“You must have a strategy for him too. You fought him before. You took him down.”

Again: Barnes (Isegrim) was drugged. Incapacitated with trigger words. Decreased speed in movement and reaction. Romanoff must know that if she really saw the recordings. Or talked with Isegrim.

She still stares at me, obviously waiting for an answer.

“He taught me how to fight opponents bigger and stronger than me. He knows my tactics. There is no point in trying to fight him in close combat.”

For a second I’m back in the institute, in a dimly lit gym in the deep of the night. I’m the desperate child again, afraid of failure, afraid of the consequences of failure. But then he was there. He could have reported me. Killed me even. But instead he taught me how to fight. How to survive.

“A bullet to the head.” Quick and painless.

“What about the trigger words?”

“No.”

_No. No. No. Nononononono. No. Never. I promised._

“Okay.” She switches her smile on again, but her gaze is still piercing.

She knows something.

She gives me a wink and walks away..

I am confused.

Barnes (Isegrim) steps next to me and hands me a fresh bottle of water. “Don’t mind her. She has always been a nosy brat.”

“I am confused.”

He sighs. “Welcome to my world.”

What.

 

***

 

I walk past Wanda, who is saying a prayer and lights up a candle on her chanukkia. The Vision and Clint joined her, not praying with her but giving her some company.

Nobody notices me as I slip by. I find Romanoff in the living room area, nursing a cup of tea.

“Sit down,” she says before I can ask. Her eyes twinkle.

_She knows something._

“You have something on your mind. I’m all ears, so spill your guts.”

I assess the situation. I need help. She can provide support.

“I have a mission.”

“A mission. What kind of mission.”

“Retrieve vital intel.”

“What kind of intel.”

“Classified.” I take a deep breath. I need her help. I can’t do it alone. Not in this situation.  “Information on Hydra. And Barnes.”

Her eyes narrow. “Vital, you said.”

“Yes.”

“Okay, what do you need.”

“Equipment. A combat knife. Transportation. Active support.”

She nods slowly. “I can provide that. I assume you’d like to keep this a secret from the others?”

“Yes.” If possible.

“Can I trust you that this mission part of Subroutine Geneva?”

“Yes.”

“Alright. Meet me at 11pm at the elevators.”

Later that evening I am waiting for Romanoff. There is a dark corner behind a potted plant (Dracanea Cintho, height around 5’2’’) where I sit out of everybody sight for about 10 minutes until Romanoff arrives.. I want to avoid questions. I know Friday can see me everywhere (a bit disconcerting) but I trust Romanoff to take care of it.

It’s hard to have to rely on her. But Barnes (Isegrim) trusts her, so I’ll try to trust her as well.

She is on time. I slide out of the shadows and she only raises one eyebrow. “I got everything we need,” she says and gestures and enters one of the elevators. I join her before the doors close.

“May I ask where you two are off to?” Friday’s voice chimes up.

Romanoff answers: “Girls night out. Don’t worry, I’ll bring her back later.”

“Alright. Do you want me to ready any kind of transportation for you?”

“That won’t be necessary, thank you.”

“Okay. Have fun.”

“Oh, I think we will.” There is a faint smile on Romanoff’s lips.

The ride down is shorter than anticipated and filled with silence. A few moments later the elevator reaches the ground level and as the door opens a realization hits me: I have to leave the tower. My mouth is suddenly dry and I have to take a deep breath as some small residual of the Princess arises from somewhere deep in my mind and panic threatens to take over my body.

_Don’t leave. It’s not safe. Not Safe. Dangerous outside. Bad people. Bad - No. No. Stop. I am capable. I can handle this. Stop being ridiculous._

A take another deep breath and shove that fraction of a fake personality back into a far corner of my mind. The whole thing only lasted for a second or two but I’m sure Romanoff noticed.

She is good. Wouldn’t have survived so long otherwise.

“I have a vehicle waiting for us outside. Packed with everything we might need,” she says and starts walking.

The ground level is occupied by a large foyer. There are a small coffee bar, a fountain and some modern looking seating accommodations in the area accessible for the public. It’s still busy with people, probably employees of Stark’s, even at that late hour.

The guards give Romanoff a nod when we pass the security checkpoint everyone has to go through to reach the elevators. Romanoff smiles back at them.

No trouble here.

The air outside is freezing and it feels like walking into a wall. Snowflakes dance through the air and melt where they meet my skin. I didn’t bring a jacket.

It feels weird to be outside again after… everything that happened in the last weeks. The Princess Persona is still present and it’ll take some time to get rid of the imprint she left on me. I’ll have to live with her quirks and issues for a little while longer. It shouldn’t impair my performance tonight though.

Romanoff walks towards a black limousine waiting in front of the building. She opens the door and gestures me to get into the car. I hesitate.

_Could be a trap. Cramped space. Not enough to move freely. Darkened windows could hide possible assailants. But: Romanoff is an ally to (Isegrim) Barnes. Trust him. Trust her. Probability of ambush: unlikely. Hopefully._

She waits for me to finish my internal dialogue.

I fight my paranoia off and get into the car. She doesn’t follow immediately but fetches something from the trunk before she gets in as well and closes the door. She puts a black duffle bag next to her and then knocks against the tinted glass wall separating the driver from the passengers’ cabin.

It slides down, revealing the face of Harold ‘Happy’ Joseph Hogan. I’ve never seen this man before, but I read the file Hydra has about him.

“Hi, Happy. Thanks for picking us up.”

“Always a pleasure. Where to?”

Romanoff raises a brow at me. Again. What is it with Romanoff and her brow.

I give them the coordinates. It’s a small apartment complex on the other side of the city. The whole building is owned by one of Hydra’s shell companies and it functions as safe house for Hydra agents, temporal base of operations and storage room. It shouldn’t be used for anything important at the moment as far as I know. But better be prepared for trouble. Always be prepared.

Before I can ask Romanoff to make a layover at one of Hydra’s secret caches to stock up on equipment, she slides the duffle bag towards me. I open it. A basic combat suit, a tactical west. Two handguns with ammunition, three grenades, a set of knives. Combat boots.

“I have more in the trunk if needed.”

I take out one of the knifes and weigh it in my hand. “This will suffice. Thank you.”

She nods and starts changing into her own combat gear as well. Everything fits perfectly. I’m not sure if it is because of Romanoff’s keen eye or Friday taking my measurements on someone’s request. It doesn’t matter. The equipment is high quality.

I take a gun, two clips of extra ammunition and the set of knives. The grenades won’t be needed if everything goes as planned.

We sit in silence. I can hear Happy Hogan sing along to a song in the radio. His voice is not bad but he doesn’t always hit the right keys.

I can feel Romanoff’s eyes on me but she doesn’t speak up, leaving me to my own thoughts: I recall the apartment complex’ layout. Security detail. Possible locations of my target.

The car stops. Romanoff makes no move to get out. “What’s your plan?”

“Get in. Retrieve intel. Get out. No casualties. Avoid detection through surveillance cameras,” I tell her. “First we need to get past the two guards at the entrance. Next: Deactivate live camera feed. The surveillance room is located in building 2, room 2040. After that we have to find room 3320 in building 3 to retrieve intel.”

“Okay. No casualties? Why?”

“If we kill or injure one of the Hydra operatives they’ll know we were here. They’ll alert connected Hydra facilities and active operatives in the vicinity before we can take them out.”

“Understood.”

She still shows no intend to open the door. “Why are we here?”

“Retrieve vital intel.”

“Whose mission is that. Yours? Or the Saboteur’s?”

“It is mine.”

“Are you sure about that.”

This question is… justified. I take a moment to think about it. What is the target. Why do I need/want it. Who gave me the mission.

I answer every single question in my mind before coming to a conclusion: “Yes. I am sure. But if I endanger Barnes in any way or show signs of being manipulated take me down.”

She nods. “Understood.”

She checks her weapons one last time and finally opens the door. I do the same. Happy Hogan leans out of the open windows and says: “Have fun! Give me a call if you need me!”

“Will do. Thank you, Happy.”

He dropped us off at a safe distance to the apartment complex. It doesn’t take long to get to there, though. The guards at the entrance are easily dodged. The cameras are trickier but we manage to avoid detection.

There is one security man in surveillance room. Romanoff takes him out without making much of a sound. I go for the controls while she takes care of the now unconscious guard. He won’t be any wiser when he wakes up, Romanoff made it look like he slipped on his coffee and bumped his head on the desk.

Good job.

It’s easy to play in a loop to replace the live feed that will stop in about an hour and after five minutes we are on the move again. There are Hydra agents in the hallways, making their rounds. We dodge them and reach room 3320 without any problems. It’s not actually a just a storage room but an apartment. And it is inhabited as we find out after I pick the lock.

A bald man in a wrinkled suit is sitting in an armchair in front of a running tv. He is soundly asleep. Some drool runs down his chin.

I pause. Romanoff watches me, waiting for my move.

_Sleeping Hydra operative. Running tv. background noise provided. Mission parameter: nonlethal. Avoid detection for future mission success._

I sign Romanoff to stay at the door and slink into the room towards the door I assume leads into the bathroom. I assumed right and find the bottle with the chloroform within 20 seconds of searching through his medicine cabinet. It’s not actually chloroform but a far more potent version of a knock out drug developed by and for Hydra.

The operative struggles for a moment before he passes out. He won’t wake up for another three hours at least and he won’t remember anything later. Time enough for us to search through the apartment. We go through everything that might be interested until I find a small package addressed to 8-C-17.

Found it.

I open it right there and glance into it. A memory stick and a book with a plain white cover and a french title in black on the front. I don’t have to open it to know that this is what I was searching for.

 _Primary mission objective retrieved. Additional intel retrieved. Success_.

I go to Romanoff and silently tell her to leave. She grabs the bottle with the Hydra-Chloroform.

_For analysis. Not for usage. Not for you. She doesn’t need that to knock you out. Dangerous woman. Very dangerous. He trusts her. You trust her. Try to trust her._

The way back to Happy Hogan is uneventful. We dodge a couple of patrols and find a safe way out of the apartment complex without being detected. Within two hours after we left Happy Hogan in his car we completed the mission and returned to him.

He greets us with a cheerful wave. He only says: “Didn’t need my help. As usual.” But his voice is not bitter. Romanoff gives him a fistbump before she slides up the glass wall again to give us some privacy.

Silence.

I hold the package close to me, not willing to let it go for even one moment. It’s too important.

Once again I can feel Romanoff’s piercing eyes on me but she stays silent as well.

“It was important to you,” she eventually says.

_To me. And for Isegrim. So much more important for Isegrim._

“Yes.”

“You know that I will go back to take out this Hydra base?”

“Yes.” I turn to look at her. “But I’d wait until you see what I have on the memory stick.”

She nods. “That’s fair.”

The silence returns. Only Happy’s muffled offkey singing is breaking it. Listening to him is… oddly comforting.

It doesn’t take too long to get back to the avenger’s tower. Before we exit the car I say: “Thank you. For being mission support.” I take a breath. “For helping me.”

She smiles. It’s sincere. “Pleasure.” Her smile turns into a grin. “We should do this again.”

I… what.

But she already left the car.

We make our way back up to the private quarters after saying goodbye to Happy. The silence follows us into the elevator, but it feels different now. I allow myself to relax.

Big mistake.

We are greeted by a bunch of people when the elevator doors open again. It seems like the whole team (sans Romanoff) gathered in front of the elevator, waiting for something.

For us.

“Hey guys,” Romanoff says. She is relaxed where I am tense.

Barnes (Isegrim) is here. His face is stony.

“Where the hell have you been, Natasha?” Sam asks.

“Girls night out,” Romanoff says without missing a beat.

“In combat gear.”

We didn’t change back into civil attire. We didn’t change.

I can feel the tension in the air.

Tension is not good. Tension means conflict. Conflict can lead to physical and emotional harm. Physical and emotional harm is counter productive to Subroutine Geneva. Intervene.

I intervene.

I step forward, leaving the elevator. “Head of mission: Воробей. Mission support: Romanoff, Natasha. Primary mission objective: Retrieve vital intel on Barnes. Secondary mission objective: Retrieve intel on Hydra. Mission successful. Primary mission objective retrieved. Secondary mission objective retrieved. No casualties.”

All eyes are on me now. The tension is still there.

“Mission successful. No casualties,” I repeat.

Isegrim’s face becomes even stonier. There is a deep line between Roger’s eyes. Stark looks unnerved. Barton looks at Romanoff. Sam looks… worried.

Considering observed reactions to previous mission reports I change… I try to change the way I give the mission report.

“We were… successful.” I pull out the memory stick. “We retrieved the information I collected. Information about Hydra.”

“Why did you go on that mission?”

That’s not… a positive reaction. “A sign of good will.”

“You could have told us where to find that memory stick. We could have fetched it for you. There was no need of getting yourself into danger.”

I shake my head. “Couldn’t risk it.”

“You couldn’t risk what.” Isegrim’s voice.

I taste copper on my tongue. I bit my lip.

The book in my hands suddenly weighs a lot more. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. It wasn’t supposed to...

Change of plans.

I make another step forward and hand over the book to Isegrim. “I couldn’t risk losing this.”

He takes the book. All eyes are on Isegrim and the book now. Except for Romanoff’s. I can feel her eyes burn into my back.

“What is this.”

“Operation Winter Soldier.”

Isegrim freezes. He stares at the book. There is a tremor in his hand, indicating emotional distress.

“Buck…” Roger’s voice is soft.

Isegrim ignores him. He opens the book. the first page is a child’s drawing. The next ten pages are covered in similar fashion. But then he reaches the first page of the actual book.

“What is this,” he asks again, breathless.

“Operation Winter Soldier. Notes, recordings. Information. All the information. About the Winter Soldier. How to handle. How to make the Asset comply. The Chair. The words.”

My chest is tight. It hurts to talk about the contents of the book. It hurts him. I can see it. His face is pale and his eyes tight. He is afraid. I can see it. I can see it.

What was I thinking. I shouldn’t have bought the book here. _Should have destroyed it. Should have tore it apart. Into thousand pieces. Burned it to ashes. So much pain. All his pain. I shouldn’t have. I should- It was a mistake. A mistake. Shouldn’t have brought it here. Should have. Should have._

“This is not how it was supposed to happen.” My voice sounds weird. It is hard to breathe. “I’m sorry.”

Icy blue eyes on me. Piercing.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

He closes the book.

“I’m sorry.”

He makes a step towards me. I close my eyes. “I’m sorry.”

I am restrained. Strong arms around me.

I wait for the pain.

_Mein sind die Jahre nicht, die mir die Zeit genommen,_  
_Mein sind die Jahre nicht, die etwa möchten kommen._  
_Der Augenblick ist mein, und nehm’ ich den in acht,_  
_So ist der mein, der Jahr und Ewigkeit gemacht_.

“You got the book.” His voice is quiet in my left ear.

“I shouldn’t have…”

The arms around me tighten. I stop.

“маленький воробей. Thank you. I don’t know… Thank you.”

What.

“Thank you so much.”

He lets go of me, his hands resting on my shoulders. Is he. Is he crying?

I want to speak but only a sob escapes me. Am I crying? I touch my cheek. Wet. I am crying. When did I start crying.

“It’s… It’s good?” I ask on my third try.

“Yes.”

“Good. I’m glad.” I sniffle. “Now I don’t have a christmas present for you anymore.”

He laughs and cries even harder. At the same time. How is he doing that. So much emotion on his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always the translations if the mouseover text doesn't work for you:  
> воробей: Sparrow  
> маленький воробей: Little Sparrow
> 
> The poem:  
> Mine are not the years time took from me,  
> Mine are not the years that may come.  
> The moment is mine, and if I take heed,  
> Thus it is mine that made year and eternity.
> 
> I really hope the next chapter won't need another year to write. Fingers crossed, guys!


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